Supreme Fascination
by M.D. Off-Red
Summary: Gilbert is a criminal wanted by the police. Ivan is a rich man in need of a housekeeper. On one night of crime, they met. Funny that beneath his child-like cruelty and demeanor, Gilbert finds a heart of gold and even darker past than his own. RussPru
1. Strangers

A/N: So… Um… -scratches nose- I wasn't planning on taking more multi-chaptered stories than necessary, but still… I can't help wanting to write about RussiaxPrussia because I'm falling more and more in love with this couple. And it's all because I read **FroggyFran's** _"Just Another Brick in the Wall"_ it's so sad, it got stuck into my head like glue.

...

I know I can be such a stupid drama queen sometimes. I've said something like "I swear I'm gonna write a RussPru fic with happier ending!" to her. I am such a dope when it comes to endings. x.x Don't get me wrong, I think her fic is _fabulous_.

But I just can't stand sad ending. They make me cry for _days_. And usually when I came across anime/manga like that, I write fanfics of them with happier endings almost instantly. Ex: Code Geass -sobs- Lelouch…

Ms. **FroggyFran**, if you ever read this Author's Note, I hope you can forgive the stupid me. Really, saying something like that so randomly. x.x

Warnings: R-18. Language. Violence. R-Rape. (yeah, I'm reluctant to write that part, but it is necessary in RussPru, sadly)

**Summary**: Gilbert is a criminal wanted by the police. Ivan is a rich man in need of a housekeeper. One thing leads to another, Gilbert works for him. Strange that beneath his child-like cruelty and demeanor, Gilbert finds a heart of gold and even darker past than his own. RussPru AU

**Supreme Fascination**

**Chapter One: Strangers**

Gilbert panted loudly, sucking in the chilly, cold air into his dry lungs.

He tried to clench his mouth tightly, preventing his laboring breaths from giving away too much noise. Throwing his head back against the rough texture of the tree behind him, he bit down on his lower lip. He held back the scream he had wanted to release out loud, just to lighten the burning, throbbing pain, feeling blood flowing out and seeping into his black jacket. His right arm was shot.

And the bullet was still nestled inside the gaping wound that was still giving out warm red liquid. He clenched his jaws tightly, if not he would bite his own tongue in attempt of suppressing the pain. His breaths were short, ragged, and wild. He slumped down to the green grass beneath him, thanking the lush bushes of the park that hid him better within the dark shadows of night.

He jolted aware when his ears heard the faint noise of siren getting stronger by seconds. Police. Damn, they had caught up with him. He could hear running footsteps and quickly ducked his head, his chin nearly touched the prickly wet grass. The small gaps of the bushes gave him limited vision, but he could see blue uniforms along with guns hung by their waists, slender lights in their hands. That was enough information for the Prussian.

Biting his lower lip, he roused himself to crawl on the green field, he would've screamed out when his wounded arm bumped against a nearby tree, if he hadn't been biting his lip to bleed. He grunted wildly, panting. Snapping his crimson pupils wide, he used only the left elbow to crawl as fast as his weak body could. He was a bloody mess, drops of blood staining the green field red in his wake. But he didn't care about that. Gilbert only thought of how not to get caught. How to survive without having to get into stinky, rotten jail.

He crawled and stopped when two polices ran just beyond the bushes, waiting for them to disappear into the dark shade before continuing. He had to get away somehow. No way he was going to get caught. He was never caught before, and he wasn't going to start now.

Gilbert took a sharp intake of air as he roused his trembling knees to stand. He leaned against the brick wall, hiding within the shadow of the trees whilst stuck himself to the said wall. His tired, focused eyes screened his surrounding, threw his gaze back and forth. The sickening smell of his own blood and another person's that stained his shirt evaporated and reached his nostrils. He twisted his nose in disgust. He never did like that iron smell, even though he had been doing the profession for years. He had to burn the shirt later, to rid himself odd the now crusted, dried up blood stuck to the fabric. And he actually liked this one.

He just murdered someone.

It was supposed to be a clean assassination. He had calculated everything like the professional he was. The timing was perfect, the target was alone in his hotel room that night, and no one saw Gilbert there. Gilbert had also worn rough gloves to cover his finger prints as he shot the man in the head. It was a suite, the whole room was soundproofed and there was no eyewitness. It was supposed to be perfect.

The only thing he hadn't calculated was that his target had ordered food to his room. After he had done the job, he opened the door and in front of him stood a bellboy, with a cart of food and wine on his side. He had been completely taken, and the bellboy had seen the dead man with a hole in between his eyebrows lying limply on the brown carpet inside the room.

Out of reflect, Gilbert carelessly shot the screaming boy. And he had missed and aimed at his left shoulder instead. The boy fell to the floor, curling in pain. And there were other guests nearby. Eyewitnesses. A woman shrieked, and Gilbert turned on his back and ran as fast as he could, never looking back.

He was too late, however, the police had already arrived and searched the area around the five-star hotel. Apparently an albino murderer was very easy to spot. Gilbert got shot in the arm when trying to escape his pursuers.

He didn't know exactly how long he had been running. His legs were hurting and Gilbert was exhausted both mentally and physically. His arm became numb as time went on, he couldn't move it an inch without resurrecting the scorching pain all over again. He had to quickly get the bullet out before the wound got infected.

After checking no one was around, Gilbert forced his legs to move. With staggering, limping steps he hurried on, hoping he could reach his current home, or maybe his friend's house to get medical treatment. He remembered Francis's apartment was nearby the park. He had been there once or twice… But his thought was interrupted with fierce barks of a dog. A drop of cold sweat dripped down his already mud-caked, worn out face.

Police dogs.

God, he loathed those damned, sharp-nosed creatures! Those dogs must've smelled the blood on him, and the barks became louder, followed by the running footsteps of people who shouted frantically.

"Over there! He found something over there!"

Gilbert flinched and staggered back, spinning on his heels and run. He could've cared less of the exhaustion hazing his mind, he had to get away quickly! Those dogs were faster than his weak legs, and they would bit into his flesh mercilessly to prevent him from escaping. There was nothing pleasant about dogs like that to criminals like Gilbert. He ran and ran, but still the barks followed tightly behind him. He damned his legs for growing weaker by each step.

_Come on, don't betray me._ He told his own legs, gritting his teeth. _Fucking run faster! Come on!_

With labored breaths, he tried running faster, almost stumbling on his way. But the end of the path greeted him so suddenly, he had to stop on his track to look at the dead end in front of him. A tall, solid, beautifully crafted iron fence stood proud before him, thick brick walls stretched along the either sides of it, into the bushes that hid the rest.. And beyond the firmly locked gate there was a house. A dim silhouette of a manor was built deep within what seemed to be a private quarter of a millionaire, surrounded by wide garden area. Gilbert hadn't known such a place existed within the town.

He had no time to be awed as the barks and voices of people rapidly approaching towards him. He looked up in panic and stared at the tall fence. It looked like it would be very hard to climb. But he had no choice. Ignoring the pain of his wound, Gilbert brought a leg up and started climbing the fence with a only one hand. He wasn't used to using his left hand and had difficulties. But he was a military trained soldier in the past and he was able to climb quickly, at the top of the fence he spotted a bunch of very luck bushes and decided to jump at it.

He lunged without hesitating, protecting his injured arm as he did. He fell rolling on the fine bushes, now flattened and ruined. He gasped for air and tossed his head about, his wounded arm once again stung and burned on his side. Drops of tears welled up at the corners of his clenched eyes. He panted, tasting blood as he bit down too hard at the insides of his cheeks. It hurt so fucking much. He took a sharp intake of air, struggling not to scream, grunting hard.

He could feel more blood spilt out of the bullet hole. He could die if he lost too much blood. Cursing under his breath, the albino sat up and ripped his bloody shirt off of his torso with the left hand and his teeth. He shut his eyes as he wrapped the torn fabric around the wound tightly, hoping it would be enough to at least stop the bleeding.

"Nothing here, is he inside? I think I saw something move there."

The albino snapped his eyes at the gate, the polices were already right in front of the iron gate, they couldn't see him as he was hidden nearby the walls. But the dogs did. Their relentless beady eyes spotted him and snarled, growling and barking out loud as they tried to get past the tight gaps of the iron bars, which thankfully were too small for them to enter. Gilbert, both thanking and cursing his luck, brought his legs to stand and begun inching away from the gate. He went along the wall and around the estate, searching for an unlocked window or the backdoor of the manor.

In the darkness, it was even harder for his eyes to find a way in, especially since his vision blurring in the result of blood loss. This was not the time to be anemic, Gilbert. He mused himself, as he circled the building, straining his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows to concentrate. His laboring breaths became heavier and heavier in each time he inhaled and exhaled. The sounds of his breathing fell clear in his ears. He clutched at his clumsily bandaged arm, limping his way along the closed windows of the manor.

He could feel the images became harder to see, but that wasn't because it was nighttime.

This was no good, he would faint anytime.

On his way, he spotted one window was left wide opened. Staring at it with wide eyes. Gilbert strode towards it in staggering steps. He stopped just before the sill, gaze turning right and left, making sure nobody saw him. There was no one around, he silently thanked. He brought up a knee to climb up, bringing another foot after that. He brushed away the burgundy curtain that was in the way with a tilt of his neck, then he stepped in, feeling the rough surface of an auburn carpet beneath his leather shoes.

"Who are you?"

He snapped his head towards the source of the voice in panic. There was someone standing in the room, only a bit far from him. A blonde man clad in white robe, amethyst silk pajamas beneath the robe matched his eyes that were staring curiously at the murderer. Gilbert flinched and stepped back when he realized the man was freakishly tall and big, like a bear. He had been discovered! And by a man so big he almost resembled a bear, with his body suffered from blood loss and a bullet still nestled within his right arm, Gilbert was sure he'd die this time.

There was an awkward silent between the two. No one made a sound of movement. Gilbert panted heavily, his useless right hand gripping the revolver. He only had one bullet left. If the man tried to move, he'd aim for his heart and kill him. He could shoot with his left hand as well as the right. He glared threateningly at the unusually quiet man.

His amethyst eyes strayed from Gilbert's mud-caked, messed up hair with leaves and small branches stuck to the white tresses, down to his ripped up shirt and soiled jacket. Then his gaze momentarily stopped at the messily bandaged wound that had been soaked red again and drops of red liquid fell trailed along his right arm and dripped down onto the carpet, staining it with crimson spots. Gilbert followed his gaze and quickly returned it to his face.

Odd. This man was too calm.

He had seen Gilbert's bundle of bloodied mess and he had even seen the revolver in his hand, why was he being so calm? He was a stranger, a trespasser to his huge private estate. And yet this man did nothing a normal person would do; scream, call the police, try to take Gilbert down, beat the hell out of him, kill before getting killed. But the blonde did none of that. He was just standing there, examining Gilbert as if assessing him, with eyes as cold as the Siberian ice and snow.

Gilbert shivered under the cold of his gaze, although the room was well-lit and warmed by the crackling flame in the fireplace. His instincts told him this man was no ordinary rich man. He was dangerous. He emitted a wicked feeling around him. Gilbert had sharp insight that rarely ever missed, especially being a criminal who had never once thrown into jail. The strange coldness in the blonde's eyes was enough prove of that.

A knock on the door sucked in both of their attentions.

"Mr. Ivan. There are police by the gate. They said they are looking for a criminal who might have gotten inside the estate. Vash and Eduard have moved to search for the said man in the house, are you okay Mr. Ivan?" Came a kind voice that sounded a bit nervous from beyond the closed mahogany door.

The blonde called Ivan turned his head at him again. and Gilbert responded by taking the gun into his left hand and pointed it at him wordlessly. Red eyes glared at the blonde, whose amethyst orbs only widened slightly. They stared at each other for mere seconds, before that kind voice called again, knocking at the door three times.

"Mr. Ivan? Are you there?"

"Yes, Toris. I am here." The blonde answered in a cheerful, child-like manner that sent a silver eyebrow up in disgust. Though he kept his violet eyes locked with Gilbert's.

They strayed up and down at the albino. Gilbert unintentionally shuddered when those prickly cold eyes met his again.

"…I believe there are no one here but myself, Toris. Tell the good gentlemen to leave my property before I call their superior." The blonde said, voice dripping with sugary venom. The creepy thing was, he was smiling all the while he spoke, but it was nothing like a sincere smile. It was obviously fake. His eyes gave it all away.

"Oh, is that so? I apologize for disturbing you, sir. I will inform them immediately." Gilbert heard the sounds of footsteps vanishing.

Gilbert furrowed his eyebrows. Why did the man lie? Why did he cover him? Was he afraid of his threat after all, like a normal person? But something felt not right.

"How rude. Of course I am not afraid of your little threat." The blonde uttered, it looked like Gilbert had spoken out his mind. The blonde smiled that icy, fake smile that got Gilbert on guard again.

Ivan tilted his head. "Don't be unreasonable. We can stand here without moving for hours then you'd die from blood loss and I'd be leaving the room for breakfast. Or you can just shoot me right now, Toris and the other staff would hear it and call the police, and you might die in prison just like a rotten rat."

Gilbert snarled at the blonde's arrogance. "Then why did you lie?" He demanded, panting hoarsely. He shut his eyes at the stinging pain. "Why did you cover up for me? Why did you save me?"

The blonde smiled. "Are you familiar with cooking?"

"Wha--?"

That was not the answer Gilbert had expected, neither had it been an answer! It was a question. And completely unrelated to the topic of conversation a criminal and a threatened citizen usually had. The albino Prussian gaped his mouth like a fish, obviously taken by the question. But the blonde didn't seem to care.

"Are you good or excellent in cleaning? Do you have the experience as a gardner? Or perhaps, do you do laundry by yourself often?" He went with the perfectly different topic and questions weren't meant to be asked to an intruder like Gilbert. "How much pay do you wish for? Would it be weekly, monthly, or daily? I prefer charging by the working hour, so it'll be easier for you to adjust your schedule."

"This is not some kind of an interview!" Gilbert choked out, recovering from the shock.

"Unfortunately, it is, Little Weillschmidt. You're in no position for refusing me, as you're within my estate, _my_ territory. I decide for you to live or die." His voice suddenly turned dangerously low and icy cold. But another bright smile tugged at the corners of his lips, one that sent shivers down the albino's spines.

"I am currently looking for a new housekeeper, you see. The hungarian girl who worked here before quit two months ago to marry, she was quite the character. I wasn't sure if I can find a tough and unique person as her substitute, I've been looking for months and no applicant satisfy me." He went back with the childish manner of speaking, sweet poison dripping down his mouth.

Gilbert suddenly had a bad feeling.

"That's why, Little Weillschmidt, I insist. I want you to take her place. It is going to be entertaining, just like when Elizaveta was here." He strode towards him. Gilbert straightened his arm and pointed the gun at his heart. But those hypnotizing cold eyes rendered him unable to pull the trigger.

Dangerous. That man was dangerous. Something about him wasn't right. The voices in his mind told him over and over again. He had to run. Hide. Somewhere, anywhere. Why did he felt such terrifying pressure when he was the one who had murdered many people, threatened, stole, and did many unspoken crimes. But this man, who was supposed to be an ordinary citizen was able to make him sweat furiously under his gaze.

Dangerous.

Dangerous.

This man was dangerous.

He had to get away.

Escape.

But he was already right in front of him, pushing his left arm down with a big gloved hand. Pristine amethyst eyes stared down at him. Gilbert was caged within the much bigger body, hearing his heart thumping loudly in his ears and feeling sweat soaking his back.

His gaze went down to the injured arm. "Ooh, poor Little Weillschmidt, you're wounded! I must call the best doctor in town to come and treat you." He said, didn't sound worried in the slightest. Smiling like an innocent child, Ivan wrapped his arms loosely around his body, pulling him close gently while whispering into his ears.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you. My Little Gilbert."

Gilbert gulped.

The Russian blonde pulled away then. As if hypnotized, Gilbert silently followed Ivan as the bigger man guided him towards the seemingly comfortable and expensive leather sofa right in front of the fireplace. He reached his shoulders and pushed him down to sit on it. "Rest well, Little Weillschmidt. I will call the doctor! You must wait a little while."

Red eyes reflected the flickering flame as he stared at it, sweat still dripping down his chin. The blonde had left the room, claiming to call the doctor. Silence emerged within the room, only the flickers of the flame filled in the empty air. The albino's heart hadn't calmed down a tad bit. He no longer cared of the wounded arm lying on his side, blood staining the cushion.

The bad feeling hadn't gone away.

_How did he know my real name?_

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Err… I have no idea what I've created this time. This fic is going to be filled with romance/suspense I guess. So… what do you think? Is it weird? …'coz I thought so too. I'm becoming a sucker for RussPru ;A;

Review if you want to see more of this story... ...or if you want me to stop.


	2. Master

A/N: I'm updating this story because my friend won't stop nagging me. -.- But what the hell, I love this story too anyway, and I am happy to see it is wanted by the readers. :D Midterms are finished! Woohoo! Gonna write and draw lots and lots (though only for a brief moment before the finals intrude my life again). Fellow RussPruss fans, I shall contribute more fanfics and fanarts for this couple, the fics will be posted on FF of course, and the pics will be posted on my DA account (have posted 3 pics, woot!). Check the link on my profile! :D

**Warnings**: **R-18**. Language. Violence. Rape. Not for the faint of hearts to read.

Note: Because this is an AU fic, I prefer referring Gilbert as a German. Hope you don't mind.

**Chapter Two: Master**

After what seemed to be a very odd night he had thought was a dream, Gilbert woke up to reality, with his drowsy eyes soon taking the sight of a room too unfamiliar and too big and expensive for him to recognize as his cramped, dirty flat. At first he had thought he was still dreaming, but much to his chagrin, as the right part of his body accidentally bumped into something hard, a sharp, burning pain stung at his right arm and he yelped out loud in response.

His mind became clear and aware almost immediately. Gilbert cursed breathily, his left hand responsively went to touch his arm, which had strangely turned rock hard. Wincing slightly, he turned his gaze and found half of his right arm covered in a white cast, only his fingers sticking out from the tiny gaps the tightly wrapped bandage left. He stared at it.

Then Gilbert threw his gaze further, from his stiffly wrapped arm on the white sheets to the warm brown-colored thick blanket, then the crimson eyes strayed farther, all across his surroundings, at the whole room. It was nighttime, by the darkened scenery beyond a small high window. His eyes bulged slightly. _Mein Gott!_ He had never seen such a _ridiculously_ extensive bed that might fit for at least eight people! And the room-the room was filled with nothing but the most exquisite furniture he recognized were produced by one of the most famous brand for furniture, each beautifully crafted and designed for Kings and Queens. The drawers, the chairs, the grand wardrobe, the carpet, the lamps, the tables, the sofas,_ the bed-_-

Gilbert was dumbfounded. He didn't understand. Where the hell was he? How long had he slept?

He clenched his jaw.

This was not funny.

He woke up in a place completely stranger to him, finding himself in a luxurious room within an empty bed he assumed to be so ridiculously expensive, he was sure ten assassinations pay wouldn't cover the whole cost. This was too strange, far too suspicious for comfort. He had looked down to himself and found his clothes had been changed into a clean light blue pajamas. Someone had treated his wounds and took the bullet out. And this feeling of drowsiness… and the way his head felt so heavy… was he drugged?

Then suddenly the recollection of that particularly strange night came to him. He remembered he almost blown his cover on a mission. Gilbert clutched at short silver bangs. He was being chased, yes, he remembered that. He was shot in his right arm. Blood spilt everywhere. He was anemic, exhausted, but he kept running despite almost fainting, especially since the cops had released those damned dogs… then he arrived before tall, iron gates of a wide estate, he saw a silhouette of a mansion beyond the locked gates. And the dogs… the dogs were approaching and he had no choice but to _climb_ in-

Red eyes widened.

And_ that man_.

He remembered now. That big, creepy man he met when he tried to hide within the huge mansion, sneaking through an opened window. He remembered because that man left such a strong impression on him. How icy cold his amethyst eyes were as they assessed him, staring up and down at Gilbert in an odd calmness. How he smiled those empty, hollow smiles that sent shivers up his spine at the mere sight. How the words and the voice escaped those thin smiles sounded so bizarre, pouring down sweet, deadly venoms. And the uncanny wicked feeling he gave out…

Gilbert shuddered.

He glanced at the white cast on his right, clucking his tongue. _What the hell, this is nothing. I gotta get away from here quick,_ he thought, then he pulled off the thick sheets covering his lower body and threw them off of the mattress to sit on the edge of the bed. He halted to check whether the other parts of his body were alright, moving his limbs and stretching his healthy arm. Apparently his right arm was completely fine. Then he swayed his legs, bouncing them up and down. They were fine too. Overall, aside of his bandaged right arm, the rest of his body was in an almost perfect condition, although his head was still heavy from the drug.

_My gun_. The German suddenly remembered, tossing his head about. Where could his beloved revolver be? Although it was old, it had accompanied him and saved him in wars and missions for many years. It was also a custom-made revolver created by his veteran dad who gave it to him years ago. It was a revolver with a knight symbol crafted beautifully to its handle, and there were only two of the same revolver in the world, he couldn't afford to lose it! And his cell… where was his cellphone? He used that to contact his clients, if it was to be handed to the cops! Gilbert half-panicked, searching for the said gun in the bedside drawer, but found nothing that looked like his revolver.

Nothing. Then Gilbert stood up to look in other places. He went to the expensive wooden drawer near the dressing table, then pulling the top drawer roughly and brusquely with his left hand until it fell off of its socket, various things dropped down to the floor as the drawer hung vertically by the German roughneck. He let it drop with a dull thump nearby his feet, before crouching down and scanning the stuff lied on the carpeted floor with serious eyes. But his gun or cell wasn't among them.

Frowning and furrowing his snowy eyebrows in displease, Gilbert pulled the second drawer in the same manner. The third. The fourth. Until all of them was pulled out and the beautiful drawers were left empty, many things scattered around and across the carpet messily, even after he had gone to search for his revolver in the other drawers and the wardrobe as well, he still hadn't find it.

"_Fuck_." Gilbert cursed, frustrated. Sweaty silver strands stuck to his forehead. "Where the fuck is it?"

Clothes and things of various kinds and shapes pooled around at his feet, making a huge mess within the floor of the previously tidy room, now much resembling a quarter of a wrecked ship than a King's bedroom, Gilbert had thrown them randomly as he searched for his gun. Even the obviously branded and expensive clothes that got in his way, were thrown carelessly onto the floor or the chair or the table without a second look. An unfortunate white silken Versace shirt was caught by a mushroom-shaped lamp as Gilbert hurled it backward, Giordano underwear wasted the elegance of their monochrome colors _inside of_ a trash bin, while Armani suits were ruined and terribly wrinkled right beneath Gilbert's bare feet.

Apparently, Gilbert was not a man too _unmanly_ to care about some branded clothes. His good ol' revolver meant more than some stupid clothes.

Gilbert had started to feel irritated and panicked. He realized he had wasted too much time searching for his gun instead of trying to escape. He didn't like the idea at all, but

he might have to abandon the family heirloom and choose to escape instead. His life worth more than some old gun after all.

Gilbert gritted his teeth.

There was_ no way _in hell he would leave the fucking place without his revolver. Dead or alive, he could've cared less of that matter until later.

That be the case, then he had to search for it somewhere else, even if he had to search the whole damned mansion. Chances were he would be captured again and might be reported to the police, although that strange Russian man had told him he wouldn't, Gilbert couldn't trust such an untrustworthy statement of a complete stranger.

He stiffened when he heard the sounds of footsteps and voices of some people, instinctively stuck himself to the wall. He waited with heart beating loudly in his ears as he heard the faint voices of people having a conversation just outside of the room. But seconds later, the voices diminished and the footsteps became softer and eventually vanished a short moment later. Gilbert sighed in relief.

From what he had heard last night, although it was only a brief information, the guy who knocked on the door mentioned the names of two guys searching for him within the house. From the way he spoke, it seemed that those two-Eduard and Vash, if he recalled right-were quite trusted for the mansion security. Were they just ordinary guards or professional, trained bodyguards hired as security? Gilbert betted the latter.

Rich people and celebrities had this inclination of hiring expensive bodyguards, and he could tell this one who owned the whole estate had quite the unique tastes in hiring staff. Seriously, hiring a criminal like him as a housekeeper? That Russian was definitely mental. Though he knew those kind of people usually had the strangest hobbies, he had dealt with bored, rich clients who hired him to see if he could 'battle' with other assassins in an underground tournament, in which Gilbert had won and survived, although he avoided killing more than necessary. Apparently they didn't like the fact that Gilbert didn't kill his opponents, but the German could care less, he won the huge price money anyway.

But back then, he survived because his dependable right arm was in a perfect condition. Now with only his left arm to use, he wasn't sure if he could take more than one or two opponents if he was caught sneaking around, although it seemed to be a suicidal mission, he had to give it a try. He was not one to think too much anyway.

Breathing deeply, Gilbert braced himself.

He went to the only exit of the room and slowly placed his ears on the mahogany door. He could hear nothing. Assuming the coast was clear, Gilbert turned the doorknob and let it swing soundlessly forward, sticking his head out to see if there was even a slightest movement or noise. He turned and threw his gaze around across the empty corridor and the turns, no one. No sound of people's footstep or voice. Good. Gilbert stepped outside and left the door opened as he walked carefully and stealthily along the corridor, all the while listening to every sound emerged into the thin air.

At the end of the corridor, just before a right turn, Gilbert stuck his back slightly to the wall, once again sticking his head a bit to see if the coast was clear. Only it wasn't this time. There was two men standing by a door a little far from where he was-which he silently thanked that they were far enough to hear him-one a brunette with a kind face and the other was a shorter, baby-faced and trembly blonde who looked frightened and nervous and was about to cry.

"It's okay, Raivis. There's nothing to be scared of." The brunette gently said. A silver brow raised. He recognized that kind, slightly nervous voice.

"I-I can't help it, Toris!" The short blonde squeaked, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. "Mr. I-Ivan got real mad when I r-ripped his favorite suit… y-you know wh-what h-he did…" He cringed, a small hand went to the nape of his neck. Gilbert spotted a long purplish mark scarred the pale skin there. He noticed the back of that hand was graced in small scars and a big one right in the middle and went to his arm but was hidden beneath the long sleeves.

Gilbert wasn't sure what caused them, but they had uncanny resemblance to whip marks. He gulped unconsciously.

"N-now, I lost the gun! Th-the gun of that m-man he brought t-to his room! He gave it t-to m-me for s-safekeeping, b-but now I lost it! I know h-he's g-going to punish m-me!" The blonde cried hoarsely, tears had begun streaming down his paling cheeks. He sobbed furiously, trying to wipe the tears with his sleeves.

Gun? Gilbert's crimson eyes widened. Was he talking about _his_ gun? That wimpy guy _lost_ his freakin' revolver?

He had wanted to go and beat the crap out of that short blondie for losing his dad's precious revolver, but since now he was crying so furiously and pathetically, Gilbert's rage decreased significantly. Though he still felt irritated that now he had no idea where his gun was. He might really have to look for it at every nook and cranny of the mansion.

"It's okay, Raivis. I'll go with you. I'll help you explain it to him." The man named Toris comforted, drawing circles on the blonde's back soothingly.

"B-but Toris… you'll be punished too!" Raivis shook his head, looking up at the older man with trembling eyes.

"It's alright. At least the both of us can each take a half of it." The brunette smiled. "And I must ask if you are fine with it? You're the owner of the gun this child lost after all. "

The brunette suddenly turned his body half-way around and his brown eyes gazed at Gilbert's way as he smiled. Although Gilbert had hid himself and held his breath as not to raise a sound, attempting to act as if he wasn't there where the brunette's eyes was staring. But Toris's voice ruined his attempt. "I know you are there, Mr. Guest. Please, would you be kind and show yourself? I won't tell Mr. Ivan that you're out of your room."

Gilbert quickly realized it was no use hiding when he was already found out. He noticed that Toris man wasn't ordinary, to be able to tell Gilbert's presence so quickly proved it. The German silently sidestepped and revealed himself, meeting the gazes of the calm man and the frightened one of the smaller man, who winced under his piercing red glare.

"Where's my gun?" Gilbert spat out without further ado. "That's _mine_. Give it back to me." He glared at the blonde.

Raivis twitched furiously before hiding himself behind the taller brunette, clutching at his turquoise sweater.

"Please, Sir. It is not this boy's fault. He simply forgot where he put the revolver. I am sure if we look for it, we will find it soon." Toris calmly reasoned, patting the blonde's head.

"Don't put words to my mouth, boy. I want my gun. Now." Gilbert fiercely but firmly demanded. But the brunette didn't seem fazed.

"I understand, I will help you look for it. Raivis, go and look for this gentleman's revolver in the first floor. Ask Eduard to help you. He will be more than glad to do it." He smiled at the blonde, who nodded rather nervously, stealing unsure glances towards the German before he ran off and disappeared as he turned at a corner.

After Raivis left, Toris approached Gilbert and smiled to him. "Shall we?"

Though uncertain, the German nodded.

As they walked side by side, Gilbert began to feel the strange feeling again. This man Toris. He was being very calm. Too calm. And it was of the odd, unnatural sort. He might posses a kind face like he wouldn't kill a fly, but this man was definitely more than the eyes could see. He had been a criminal for years and had served in military for more than ten years before that, so Gilbert could tell between ordinary people and the not. This man was definitely the latter. He could sense it, like fellow dogs could smell their own kind. Toris had the same scent as he was, the scent of a man who had experienced wars, who had killed fellow humans, who had seen the true ugly face of the world.

Gilbert couldn't helped but to feel curious, as he kept staring at the brunette.

"My name is Toris Lorinaitis." The brunette suddenly said. Gilbert was a bit surprised when he turned to him, chuckling. "You look like you wanted to ask."

"O-oh yeah." Gilbert felt his face heated up, feeling a bit embarrassed that he was caught staring at him. "I'm-" Gilbert stopped. What the hell was he thinking? He couldn't tell his real identity to a complete stranger. Yet strangely, the brunette emitted a feeling around him that had made Gilbert forgot for a moment that he was being held within a foreign place.

"It's alright. You don't have to tell me your name." Toris smiled kindly, nodding understandingly.

"…who are you?"

The brunette had looked surprised at the question, lowering his gaze as they resumed walking along the corridor. But he answered a moment later. "I believe you have noticed it as well, sir." He smiled thinly.

"I can tell that you're no ordinary person either. Well, aside the fact that you showed up a bloody mess when Mr. Ivan brought me to you, but you were already unconscious then, I don't think you remember. But I know you're something else." He turned to the curious German. He chuckled again. "I used to serve in the Lithuanian Military. I was a military doctor, as well as a member of the Armed Forces. Now I'm just a simple doctor. I'm working as a private doctor for the Braginsky family now."

Crimson eyes widened. "A doctor?"

"Yes. I took the bullet out of your right arm and stitched you back. Don't worry, I am a licensed doctor. You'll be perfectly fine if you have plenty of rest, and don't do heavy activities in the mean time. For about a month, I suppose." He told him.

"How long have I slept?" He asked.

"About two days, you had a fever and kept saying your right arm hurt, so I gave you sedative and pain killers. That was why you slept for two days straight. Is it still hurt?"

Gilbert stared at the cast and moved it a bit. "…no. It still hurts, but not as much as before."

"I'm glad." Toris smiled earnestly.

Gilbert went quiet.

"…Gilbert Weillschmidt."

Toris looked confused. "Pardon?"

"My name is Gilbert Weillschmidt."

"Oh… But is that really okay, telling me your name?" He worriedly said, glancing back and forth.

"You saved my life." Gilbert muttered. "That's enough reason to tell you my name. It's just a name anyway, it's nothing biggie."

Toris smiled. "If that is the case, then I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Weillschmidt."

"Right back at you." Gilber said, scratching the back of his head. "But cut the 'Mr.' thing, I get edgy with things like that. Just call me Gilbert."

"Alright, Mr. Weillschmidt."

"…I said call me Gilbert."

"That would be impolite. You're Mr. Ivan's guest, I shouldn't call you so familiarly." Toris reasoned gently.

Gilbert sighed. He knew he deserved respect, but being called 'Mr.' like he was a stranger wasn't exactly the show of respect he wanted. "Okay, okay. Call me whatever you like, sheesh. It's just a damn name…" He grumbled the last statement softly.

After a brief moment of walking the two of them arrived before a large two-leaf door. Gilbert stared up to it, feeling slightly curious. He turned to Toris, who was suddenly quiet and made no attempt at opening the door. He seemed serious as his expression hardened. Somehow the German had a bad feeling. When he was just about to ask, Toris had turned his head to him.

"This is Mr. Ivan's study." He told him.

Gilbert stiffened. Then his eyebrows furrowed. "Why are we here? Aren't we looking for my gun?"

Toris looked oddly nervous, fidgeting slightly. "Truthfully, I saw Mr. Ivan took the gun from Raivis's room just a while ago. Raivis was making a big fuss, so I hadn't have the time to explain to you." He glanced at the door. "I think he has your cellphone too. I've seen it inside his work desk drawer this morning when he summoned me inside."

"So why don't you ask for him to give it back? What's the big deal?"

The brunette turned pale. "We're not permitted to disturb him within his study when we are not ordered to. It is a violation to the rules, and we will be punished for it."

A white eyebrow was raised. "What the fuck? Who the hell does he think he is? He can't just go around forcing rules on people like a dictator, you're his staff! You can demand for your rights! To hell with the Goddamn rul-"

Toris quickly slapped a hand over the German's mouth, brown eyes widened in panic. This was the first time Gilbert saw the composed man flustered like this. "Please don't raise your voice-you might disturb him! You do not understand, Mr. Weillschmidt. Mr. Ivan is the _law_ within this house. He _owns_ us. You do not understand. There are reasons as to why we cannot defy him, it does not have anything to do with our rights as his employees. Please don't make him angry. He is kind enough that he saved you, please remember that. Don't make him angry, please. It brings nothing good for us if he is angered. Please promise to me."

Gilbert stared at the Lithuanian, wide-eyed. He had never heard people begging him to this point, aside his victims who begged for their lives to be spared before he shot them in the head. Toris's face was twisted in worry and nervousness, mostly dominated by the fear within those brown orbs. They reminded him of the wimpy blonde he saw earlier. They had the same look now. Fear. Fright. Horror. He only had a brief meeting with this Ivan, but that short moment was enough for him to know that man was dangerous. All his senses went alert before him. There was something beneath those cheerful but hollow smiles, hidden deep within those cold amethyst eyes. He didn't know what, but his instincts screamed 'danger'.

After Toris withdrew his hand, Gilbert was silent for a few seconds, before he nodded. "Okay. I promise."

Toris smiled in relief as he placed his hands over his heart.

Before his hand grab the doorknob, Gilbert was unsure. He had wanted to just leave the estate without even a second look, much less he wanted to meet with that Russian man again. But both of his cherished gun and cellphone was within the man's possession. He needed them back, and the feeling was stronger than his unwillingness to meeting with him again.

He took a deep breath in, before he turned the knob and entered the room.

"_Oy polnym polna moya korobushka,_"

As soon as he entered the room, he heard a hummed music came from the tall blonde who was sitting on a comfortable-looking chair across a big work desk. A silver eyebrow was raised when Gilbert took a rather unexpected sight of the Russian, who was polishing a bunch of dolls of different sizes with a clean white rag. His eyes were closed as he sang something in a language he couldn't decipher - probably Russian, humming an unfamiliar melody to the German's ears.

"_Oy polnym polna moya korobushka_ - oh my crate is so full"

"_Yest' i sitets i parcha. Pozhaley, dusha-zaznobushka, Molodetskogo plecha_ - I've got chintz and brocade. Take pity, oh sweetie, of this lad's shoulder."

"_Vyydu, vyddu v rozh' vysokuyu, Tam do nochki pogozhu, Kak zavizhu chernookuyu, Vse ovary razlozhu_ - I will, I will go out into the tall rye, I will wait there till the night comes, once I see the dark-eyed lass, I will showcase all my goods"

He continued singing, seemingly unaware of Gilbert's presence.

"_Tseny sam platil nemalyye, Ne torguysya, ne skupis', Podstavlyay-ka gubki alyye, Blizhe k molodtsu sadis'_ - I paid no small price myself, so don't bargain or be stingy, Bring your scarlet lips to me, sit closer to this fine lad"

As he sang, he opened his eyes and looked straight towards the stiffening Gilbert. He smiled, putting the biggest doll on the right most row of the other dolls that they look like a row of stair, identical dolls lined up from the smallest to the biggest, or the vice versa. Ivan signaled Gilbert to approach him. The German had cringed in blatant unwillingness, and it must show on his face, but the Russian didn't seem to care as he moved his fingers again, telling him to come closer.

But he promised Toris he wouldn't do anything to make the Russian angry. Gritting his teeth, he complied to the gesture.

"_Vot uzh pala noch' tumannaya, Zhdyot udalyy molodets. Chu, idyot! prishla zhelannaya, Prodayot tovar kupets_ - The foggy night has already come, the darling lad is awaiting. Hark, it's her! The desired one has come, the merchant is selling his goods"

As soon as Gilbert had been close enough, Ivan grabbed onto his cast and yanked hard that the German let out a scream of agony, his entire body and knees shook and weakened at the burning pain as he let his body fell to the direction Ivan pulled him to, unaware that he had fallen into the Russian's big arms. Ivan smiled as he adjusted the German that now he was sitting on his lap, his back pressed against the bigger man's chest, a pair of big arms wrapping around the smaller waist as he nuzzled against the silver strands.

Gilbert was still trying so hard to hold in the screams that tore its way out of his throat, but failing to do so as he panted, letting out little pained whines as tears gathering in the corners of his closed eyes. _Fuck_, he could feel his wound reopening! He could feel the warm blood once again flow out of the already stitched hole. And fuck, that hurt so badly, he just wanted to scream as loud as he could, as much as he wanted. But he couldn't. He couldn't. He had his foolish pride to uphold, he didn't want to look pathetic and weak. He was a man. He had to take the pain like a man.

"_Katya berezhno torguyetsya Vsyo boitsya peredat', Paren' s devitsey tseluyetsya, Prosit tseny nabavlyat'_ - Katya is haggling with care, she is afraid to pay too much, a lad is kissing his lass, asking her to raise the price"

Ivan kissed the nape of Gilbert's neck as he rubbed soothing circles on his stomach, singing softly into his ear.

"_Znayet tol'ko noch' glubokaya, Kak poladili oni. Raspryamis' ty, rozh' vysokaya, Taynu Svyato sokhrani!_ - Only the deep night knows, What they agreed upon. Straighten up now, oh tall rye, and keep their secret scrupulously!"

Gilbert panted heavily, his hazy mind became clearer as the pain dulled away as seconds went. But the pain was still there, and the blood still flowed out freely, staining the white cast red on a particular spot. He felt cold sweat running down his temples, white strands stuck to his face. The Russian was still singing cheerfully, guiltlessly. If only Gilbert was not in so much pain and his right arm wasn't injured, he'd hit the man so hard his jaw would dislocate.

"Little Russian shit," He panted out, glaring at the blonde, who stopped singing at the statement. "Give me back my damn gun and cell."

Ivan tilted his head, before smiling. "Oh? That old gun? I might have thrown it away, since it is so old, yes?"

"What!" Gilbert choked out, thrashing frantically within Ivan's hold, but to no avail, his weak body couldn't overpower the much bigger man. Rage had dulled his senses and mind that he no longer cared for the pain or the blood. That revolver wasn't just some gun he could buy at a random black market, it was a memory given by his deceased father!

"What the fuck are you saying? Where is it? Where the fuck did you throw it? Tell me! Tell me or _I'll fucking kill you_!" He screamed in wrath, glaring holes into the Russian's head.

The Russian chuckled, nuzzling against Gilbert's back. "I said I 'might have' thrown it away. It does not mean I 'have' thrown it away, yes?"

Gilbert felt blood rushed into his head. "This not some kind of a joke! Give me back my gun!" He spat out fiercely, panting slightly afterwards.

"I will give it to you, alright." Ivan smiled. One that made Gilbert suddenly stopped thrashing around, a chill ran down his spines. Those icy reddish purple eyes shone in a strange glint, as if he was hiding bad intentions just like a child, and about to spill it all out.

"You will agree to the terms of condition I will give you. You can't refuse. You have no choice but to accept, since I know all about you, Little Weillschmidt. You can try to run, but I will see to it that you can't _hide_ from me, no matter where you go. I will capture you again, I will have you in my arms, just like this." He tightened his grip so painfully tight, it was hard for Gilbert to breathe. They were all statements. Not questions. Ivan wouldn't take no for an answer.

"You _will_ become an employee of mine, Little Weillschmidt. You will fill the job vacancy, you will replace Elizaveta as _my_ housekeeper. You will work for _me_." He smiled, taking out a white cellphone from his pocket, Gilbert's cell. "I have talked to your clients, Little Weillschmidt. Now you're free from them! You can work as my employee with ease."

"Stop joking around, you Russian son of a-"

"…or do you wish to see your cherished heirloom melted to a deformed state? Your deceased father will be most sad, don't you think?"

Gilbert suddenly went quiet. His revolver. He couldn't lose it. He couldn't afford to. Beside the fact it was an heirloom, that revolver was also the only family bond he had left in this world. If he lost it, he wouldn't be able to find the _other_ pair… "Fuck." He muttered, cursing under his breath. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck, fuck, fuck._"

He knew he would regret it later.

* * *

TBC

* * *

_Korobeyniki_ - a famous Russian folk song, you can check it out on YouTube or Wikipedia. It is supposedly a cheerful song, but Russia just had to do that… poor Gil.

A/N: So, through manipulation and black-mailing, Gilbert is forced to be a housemaid… I mean, housekeeper. Err, this is the only plot I can think of, since I don't think Gilbert would want to be a housekeeper under normal circumstances (I mean, he's a proud guy, thinking he's too awesome for that), and Ivan… is according to plan, is being Ivan. :9 …I said this story is not for the faints of heart, when I don't even have the guts to write extreme abusive scene… I'm fine reading/watching it, but why can't I write it? ;A;

Reviews encouraged me to write the updates faster! XD (like seriously, they made me super-happy and writey, like that's even a word, loll)


	3. Attempt

A/N: So… I decided to write the third chapter of **Supreme Fascination**! XD It's been so long since I updated this one, I missed writing RussPruss so much~ 3 I see that this fic is still wanted! OUO So glad to know it :D

Okay, I've thought of the sub-pairings to make this story more lively. So it's like this:

**Main Pairing:** Russia x Prussia

**Sub-pairings:** Lithuania x Poland, Estonia x Latvia, Spain x Romano, Germany x Italy, one-sided France x Prussia, US xUK, others are to be announced.

Character interaction is my most favorite part in writing. The sub-pairings will have a share of their own stories later on. :D

**Chapter Three: Attempt**

This had got to be a joke.

God knew just how many times and how much he had prayed last night, despite being an atheist, that in the next morning he would wake up finding this was all just a dream. And yet the conclusion of his hopeful prayer was that the moment he opened his eyes, the pale face of the Russian man appeared before his sight. His amethyst eyes closed shut and his naked chest was heaving up and down steadily, while a big, heavy arm was sprawled across the German's waist, weighing down onto his bandaged arm, holding him still. He wouldn't be able to move even if he wanted to.

And again, he found himself in the same room he waked himself into just a few days ago. In the same ridiculously huge bed, forced to sleep next to some creepy Russian psycho who held him captive there.

Shit.

Gilbert slipped his left hand into the pillow beneath his head and drew back a revolver with a black and white cross symbol on its handle, pointing it to the sleeping Russian. Oh how he wanted to just blow the damn Russian's brains out, but the bullet case was emptied out, much to his disappointment. He drew the gun back and let it dropped on the pillow next to his head. He sighed, staring down at the heavy arm that was holding him rather close to the much bigger man, and in such a protective way, as if he was _his_ _woman_.

Being a fully grown, straight in sexuality, and an individualistic man of thirty two years of age, Gilbert didn't like being treated as such, like he was some kind of… some kind of a _baby_ or something. But he was still too weak to struggle out of it without awakening the pain in his injured right arm. And although he felt sore and numb because he had slept in the same position since last night. Needless to say, Gilbert was ticked off.

Fuck, if only this was all just a lame joke…

Despite knowing it would be in vain, Gilbert squirmed slightly, careful not to worsen his arm's condition. He tried to push Ivan's arm off of his body with his only usable hand, having a bit difficulty in doing so. But instead of causing it to slid off, suddenly the grip around his waist tightening, making him gasp in response. Then a pair of light violet eyes met his, a thin amused smile was chiseled on the corners of the Russian's lips as he stared at the German, who glared at him in return.

But he kept his smile despite the unfriendly treatment. "Good morning, Little Gilbert." He greeted, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the German's forehead.

Gilbert immediately backed away, but was held still by the same hand. He scoffed, glaring holes into the Russian's face. "Don't touch me, you freak." He spat out, furrowing his eyebrows. His gaze went to the hand for a mere second to give a point.

But Ivan ignored the obvious gesture, tightening the grip instead until Gilbert winced a bit. "So lively in the morning, I see. I am guessing you must be hungry, yes? I will inform Vash to fix something you will like… ah it will be your duty, actually. But since you are not ready yet to start working, you are to be treated as my guest. I will wait patiently until you're completely healed." He spoke in that obviously faked kindness again, glancing at Gilbert's bandaged arm and caressing the white cast.

It made Gilbert want to choke. "Cut the crap." He spoke in an obvious contempt, wanting so much to slap his hand away but disappointed that he couldn't move the cast even an inch. "I already get that you're the narcissistic, self-loving bastard type who would never listen to what others have to say. I get that whatever I do, I wouldn't change your fucked-up, psycho mind. But fuck, why _in the world_ are you sleeping here?"

Ivan only blinked and tilted his head slightly. "Whatever do you mean, Little Weillschmidt? I believe this is my bedroom, of course I will be sleeping here, yes?"

"I'll rephrase it then. Why in the world do I have to sleep in _your_ room when obviously, this fucking _huge_ mansion has more rooms than the local grade school?" He asked, not bothering to hide the abhorrence from showing on his face.

"Why the fuck do I have to sleep in your room when there are about thirty unused guest-rooms scatter around all over the goddamn place?" He demanded repeatedly, raising his voice in annoyance. Waking up too early was never his hobby, he always waked up in a terrible mood, and waking up into such a situation only worsened things up.

The bigger man only smiled. "So you wouldn't leave." He stated matter-of-factly.

"You are a slick one, Little Gilbert. If I don't watch you carefully, you will slip away from my hands. In any given chance, you will take it and try to flee, like you did many times when you were captured by the enemies in Israel. You're always the great escapee, I can't help but to worry. You're lucky I don't put cuffs on your hands and legs, since I'm afraid it will worsen your condition." The sweet tone of his voice sent chills up Gilbert's spine, in contrast of the last statement he spoke out.

"How did you know that?" Gilbert suddenly asked.

The German remembered how the Russian seemed to know so much about him even in their first meeting, and in such an eerie details. He could guess his real name the moment he laid his eyes on him. He even knew about his gun that his late dad gave him, when only very few people knew it, not even his best friends knew. The only thing Gilbert had ever told them was that he kept that revolver because it was a unique antique. They knew Gilbert was a guns fanatic. He had a huge collection of antique guns in his old house's cellar back in Berlin. And now, he seemed to know about Gilbert's past career in the U.S. Military as well.

But to his surprise, that eerie smile slightly slipped away into an indifferent, almost sad one, before turning back into the usual wicked smirk. A cold hand went up to caress Gilbert's pale cheek, running the back of its index finger up and down the smooth skin, then down to his chin, cupping it gently.

"Because I know all about you." He uttered softly, but it was lacking of the usual sugary venom and the hollow pretension, much dimmer and softer instead. And when it left Gilbert's cheek, it also left the German wondering to himself.

The Russian suddenly pulled the sheets off of his topless body, then he swung his legs to sit on the edge of the bed, fetching a silk cream-colored robe from the bedside table and putting it on. The pale-colored and unblemished muscular back disappeared beneath the garment. Gilbert in the other hand, was relieved of the pressuring weigh on his waist and cast, and now was able to bring himself to sit, glaring at the Russian, who was staring at him with the ever omnipresent smile.

"It is already quite sunny, yes? I will have to miss breakfast today, for I will be quite busy today. I am sorry I can't accompany you today, Little Weillschmidt."

Gilbert immediately perked up. "So I don't have to see your face during breakfast? That's fucking great."

Ivan laughed. "I will have Toris and Raivis to accompany you, as well as to watch you so you won't hurt yourself again."

The German frowned. "You're the only reason why my wound reopened again, you Russian piece of shit. Don't even dare say you forgot."

The Russian flashed a thin, unreadable smile at him, his eyes gleamed coldness. "…it is but a way to discipline disobedient servants, Little Gilbert." Gilbert shuddered at the drastically changed tone of voice. His voice hadn't lose the wicked sweetness, but it had dropped several Celsius degrees over, even colder and sharper, and even more darker than the one he had heard before. When he looked up, he saw those amethyst eyes had darkened to an eerie gloom, as if storm clouds came to hide the sunlight.

"I believe Toris must've warned you before." The Russian spoke again, and Gilbert held his breath. His body stiffened when those icy cold eyes stared into his crimson pupils. And Gilbert was suddenly reminded of the feelings he felt the night they met for the first time.

"I am not the kindest person when I am angry, Little Weillschmidt. Sometimes I _lost_ control over my own body when I do. Sometimes I couldn't recall what I have done right after everything happened. His warning is not without proof. But I am not a liar, Little Gilbert. I am a man of my words. When I said I will take care of you, then I will certainly do so. That is, of course, if you stay obedient. If not, you will be punished like the rest. For I am the disciplinarian in this house. I am the _law_." He smiled again, and the German gulped, feeling a bead of sweat dripping down his temples.

"It is understood, yes? After all, you will be one of my employees. It will be so much fun to have you around. It has been so quiet lately after Elizaveta resigned. I would love very much to stay and have breakfast with you, but I must go now. I have a lot of works to be done." He flashed him another smile, before making a beeline towards the door, then disappeared as the door creaked shut.

After he left, Gilbert could finally breathe again. Gasping for air, he clasped at the sheets, his crimson eyes widened while beads of sweat dripped down his chin. He panted slightly, staring at the sheets, feeling sweat soaked his back. His shoulders were trembling faintly.

He had to escape.

This was not a joke. This was serious. He was held prisoner in a place owned by a rich psychopath who wanted him to be his dog, his obedient slave, and he would use force if necessary. And there was no way Gilbert would become one. He was Gilbert Weillschmidt! First class criminal famous in the underground world! Dons and famous heads of crime syndicates would pay millions to get him on their sides. There was absolutely no way he would be stuck here, in this freak house, cornered like a street rat.

And that Russian man.

Gilbert gulped.

He had never heard of his name before, he knew nothing of him, but he was sure he was dangerous. He could tell. He could smell it. His instincts sensed it. The German gritted his teeth. Who… just who exactly was he? Gilbert couldn't help but wanting to know. But he had no link to the Russian underground world, he mostly accepted jobs from U.S. and a few Southern Europe nations, never the northern part of the big continent. He had heard the relations there were difficult and private.

Gilbert bit down onto his lower lip. If only he could call Antonio… even if that guy was a peace-loving blockhead, he was still the heir of the biggest mafia syndicate in Spain. He had many links, so digging some information about Russian underground world and that Ivan Braginsky's identity would be a snap for him. Plus, they were best friends since childhood, Antonio would agree to his request.

But first thing's first, Gilbert had to find a way to get out of the house without anyone knowing.

It would appear difficult for him since his arm was injured, as he was far too accustomed to doing things alone, but his other best friend, Francis, was currently residing within the town. They were partners-in-crime in several jobs before. He knew well what the con man was capable of. If he could contact him in any way, without getting caught, then the rest of the plan would flow smoothly. This thought brought a smile to Gilbert's lips. Yes, that sounded like a plan.

For that, the German decided he would see if he could get the chance during breakfast.

Toris came came to the room about an hour after Ivan left, a box of medical kit was in his hand.

He smiled politely at the gloomy German and bade him good morning, before sitting at the bedside to start Gilbert's morning medical examination. Gilbert obediently and quietly obeyed every thing the ex-military doctor asked him to do. Toris released the dirty cast and before replacing it with new bandages, he did a thorough check on the stitched wound that was still red in color.

"Good, it's not infected. It's starting to heal a bit." He heaved a relieved sigh, smiling worriedly while carefully holding the injured arm. "I was worried because it was reopened rather violently by Mr. Iv - I mean, because of yesterday's accident. It-it's good to see it's fine now. You just need a lot of rest." The smile turned into a nervous one, as he glanced right and left restlessly.

So he didn't even dare to mention the truth, Gilbert silently mused. But he wasn't about to let that one slide. "That fucking Russian's a loony, he didn't show hesitation when he tried to rip my arm off of its socket." He blatantly said, clucking his tongue.

"I'm sure you're hungry. Vash has cooked breakfast for you. He is an excellent chef, you should try his cooking. You must eat a lot or nutritious food so you can recover faster." The Lithuanian suddenly averted the topic, while putting his stethoscope and other medical tools into the box again.

Gilbert rolled his eyes and groaned inwardly.

_This is fucking madhouse._

After having Toris helped him bathe and dress up ("I can do it myself, geez!" He had thoroughly refused Toris' offer to help him bathing), Toris led him around the house to the designated dining room. There were a lot of similar-looking corridors as he had seen yesterday, he thought as they descended the grand stairs.

The whole mansion was like the mansions of British nobles he often saw in documentary films; exaggeratedly furnished to the brim with obviously expensive branded furniture, the walls were covered in tasteful and elegant wallpapers that gave out the feelings of classic elegance dominated by golden brown color, a row of beautiful crystal lamps graced along the corridors leaning more to aesthetic purposes than the function, the floors were completely covered in carpet made of wools, and he could even smell the fresh scent of pine that was lingering in the air.

In short, this was obviously the home of some rich and snobbish _asshole_, Gilbert grudgingly thought.

A short while later, they arrived in a rather huge, airy and comfortable dining room with an exotic dining table that would fit for twenty people to eat together stood in the middle of the room, but only several plates of various kinds of food filled in one end of the long mahogany table while the rest of the three per four part of the table was empty, giving it an unbalance feel. Gilbert noted the dining room particularly has more windows than he previously thought. Warm sunlight easily entered the room through the unbound glass windows, resulting in a much warmer, homy feel despite the polite coldness the huge, but underpopulated mansion gave off.

And he could see a huge garden of bright yellow sunflowers from beyond the windows, as there were two glass slide doors in between the rows of windows that would lead to the veranda that was purposely built to face the extensive mass of yellow, that was so vast and wide, he could only see little green trees and skyscrapers far in the short horizon. Gilbert found himself at loss of words, awed by what he witnessed.

He had never seen such an extensive sunflower garden aside the ones he saw in Spain, when he was small. And those could never compare to the beauty of these flowers he was gaping at. They weren't planted according to tidy rows like the usual garden, but were seemed to be let to grow wildly and naturally on purpose. And each was tall, almost as tall as the veranda fence itself.

But what stunned him the most was the fact that those flowers seemed to _glow_ under the dim morning sunlight. And the cloudless summer sky, the small tint of green in the horizon, and the brilliant yellow created a perfect harmony of colors, despite being in contrast. It was almost like it was _alive_, a scenery that popped out of a painting. Gilbert almost felt like he wasn't in the middle of a crowded, polluted city, but a mountain where a wild sunflower garden grew, in Spain with Antonio, when he was a child.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Toris' voice brought him back from his imagination. He turned his head to the Lithuanian, who was staring at the sunflowers as well, a fond smile was on his lips.

"It is Mr. Ivan's prized sunflower garden. He loves tending them in his spare times, although he is usually very busy and rarely has any." He muttered softly, in a tone of voice that was lacking the nervousness and fear he usually wore when speaking of the Russian.

"Really?" Gilbert raised an eyebrow, glancing in line with Toris' gaze. Somehow he couldn't imagine a sick fuck like Ivan taking care of such beautiful flowers by himself, he must've gotten some gardeners to take care such a massive garden. That was what rich people do after all. Gilbert assumed.

"Good morning."

They switched their gazes at the source of the morning greeting, finding two men were entering the dining room with the door slightly opened. The first guy was a tall, seemingly intelligent blonde with rather thick pair of glasses hanging firmly on the bridge of his nose, he was carrying a black-skinned laptop in his right hand, holding it firmly against his sides. Gilbert didn't recognize him. Must be another staff of this mansion he had yet to know. And the second guy was standing behind the taller bespectacled guy, Gilbert had to jut his head to the left to see who it was.

"G-good morning."

…it turned out to be the trembly, wimpy shorty who thought he had lost his gun yesterday, Gilbert unconsciously reached for his jeans pocket to make sure the antique gun was kept there safely under his shirt. He was the same as yesterday, trembling to the bone with his big teary eyes glancing fearfully at the frowning German. He quickie averted his eyes and hid his face behind the taller blonde when Gilbert was only _staring_ at him back, his hands were clutching at the back of the bespectacled guy's sweater vest.

"Good morning, Eduard, Raivis." Toris greeted back while nodding slightly.

The first guy smiled apologetically at Gilbert, before drawing his gaze to his right and bringing his hand to touch the shorter blonde's tightened fist. "It's okay, Raivis. He has the gun. Mr. Ivan found it and gave it back to him." He soothingly said, in a manner that was strangely intimate in Gilbert's eyes, that a silver brow was once again raised.

After a short moment of cooing to the trembly kid, Raivis finally emerged from behind the glasses guy's back, the hand that previously caught a hold on his vest was now holding the tailor blonde's hand like a child with his mother. Though he was still trembling slightly and was staring frightfully at the carpeted floor instead of Toris or Gilbert.

"I'm sorry for the inconveniences he caused." The taller guy calmly said. "You must be Mr. Ivan's guest, I believe? It is a pleasure to meet you, I am Eduard Von Bock, a programmer. My job is maintaining the mansion's security system. This is Raivis, he is the gardner." He gestured a hand towards the shorter blonde, who finally managed to glance up at the German for a total of two seconds, before lowering his chin again.

"R-Raivis Galante." He mumbled almost incoherently.

"You're the gardner?" Gilbert spat out in surprise, vermillion pupils dilated slightly. How could such a small guy maintain such a big garden?

"Y-yes." Raivis nodded a bit.

It seemed like the short guy didn't know it was Ivan who took his gun on his own accord and was still blaming himself for that, Gilbert mused as he stared at the awkward boy. He didn't even dare to raise his eyes to him, looking both scared and guilty. What a gloomy sight so early in the morning. That didn't help with Gilbert's awful morning mood at all. And just seeing the guy made him feel he was the bad guy. And those terrible scars...

Gilbert sighed exasperatedly. Fuck, since when did he become such a softie?

"…Gilbert Weillschmidt." He muttered, staring at Raivis, who hesitantly looked up at him in question. Toris and Eduard both turned their heads to him. "The name's Gilbert Weillschmidt, kid. Don't forget that. And don't give me that look. I got my gun and that's all that matters, okay? It's not like I'm still holding a grudge against you or something."

"Mr. Weillschmidt…?" Toris uttered in whisper, glancing questioningly at the German.

Gilbert gave him an assuring look. "I told you it's just a name, it's nothing big." He told him.

"Uh, umm…"

Gilbert turned his head and found Raivis was standing right in front of him, glancing unsurely at his feet. "M-Mr. Weillschmidt?" He asked, daring himself to look up.

The German furrowed his eyebrows. "Cut that crap. No 'Mr.' okay? Call me Gilbert. And I'll only respond if you call me that. I won't if you add the 'Mr.' crap - that goes to you too, doc." He turned to the Lithuanian, who seemed taken by the demand.

"S-sorry, G-G-Gilbert, is it…?" Raivis quickly said, almost biting his own tongue when he said the name.

"Yeah. That's me."

"I-I'm really sorry a-about your g-gun. I must've m-misplaced it s-somewhere…" He stutteringly said, twiddling with his fingers.

"That's fine. No hard feelings, okay? As long as I got it back, I won't fuss over old stuff like that." He assured, crossing his arms.

Then an interesting thing happened.

The shorter blonde beamed and smiled widely at the German, his cheeks puffed pink and he laughed the way an innocent child would. He was no longer trembling, but clasping his hands together in joy as he exclaimed, "Thank you! I'm really glad! I was r-really worried you would still be angry!" His voice was laced in pure joy and relief. That short, gloomy and wimpy kid now looked as precious as an angel, beaming glowing innocence. Gilbert was a bit taken.

"N-no prob." The German managed to say, stunned by the glow similar to that of the sunflowers in the garden. He began to believe that he was indeed, the gardner, that he possessed the same brilliance when happy.

"I believe it is time for breakfast." Eduard suddenly cut, screening the younger boy behind him. "Gilbert, is it? Mr. Ivan has told us to accompany you today and make sure you're eating right. It is important that you finish your meal quickly so you can take your medicine." He smiled politely.

…hmm? Somehow even though the tall blonde was smiling, Gilbert caught a rather unpleasant tone in his voice when he cut him earlier. Was it only him? Gilbert wasn't really sure.

"Fine. I'm hungry too anyway." The German stated, rubbing his stomach gently.

The four sat across each other. Eduard and Raivis sat next to each other, while Gilbert sat next to Toris. He salivated at the tempting scent and sight of the delicious food in front of him; a big bowl of boiled potatoes, a plate of fresh-cooked wursts, a huge bowl of salad with mayonnaise and olive oil dressings, a bowl of potato cream soup with slices of French bread, and a big slice of delicious-looking apple pie as the dessert. After having been unconscious for two days straight and then another half a day, Gilbert's stomach practically _roared_ at the sight. He gulped deeply, staring longingly at the heavenly meal.

While the others were eating their breakfast quietly, the German dug into his share of food rather hungrily, soundly, and to be blunt, shamelessly. He stuffed as much wursts and potatoes into his mouth as he could, creating a mess since he could only use his left hand (he had refused Toris' kind offer to _spoon-feed_ him). The cream soup spilt onto the polished table, some to his own lap, but he didn't seem to care for that and what table mannerism he should maintain. He was _starving_, that was all Gilbert knew.

He was rather full after he had swept clean all of the plates and bowls in front of him, leaving only bread crumbs and a bit of mess here and there. Gilbert sighed contentedly as he leaned his back against the chair, feelling his stomach was full. He was enjoying the moment of sheer bliss, lolling his head around to see Toris and Raivis were cleaning up the table and taking the empty plates to the kitchen.

He caught the sight of the glasses blonde, Ed… Edo… Eduard was it? He was sitting quietly in his seat across of Gilbert, typing something in his laptop, his glasses reflected the computer screen. Being idle and curious, Gilbert observed as the blonde typed something very fast, he looked like he was concentrating fully on an important task. Curiosity got over him, as Gilbert decided to ask.

"What're you doing?" He straightened his back and leaned towards the table, straining his neck up to see if he could catch a gist of the screen.

Eduard looked up and chuckled a bit when he saw the curious German. "Oh, I'm checking something in the internet. I'm developing a new security program for a certain company, I was emailing the client just now." He told him.

Gilbert raised both of his snowy eyebrows. "You can go online from here?"

He nodded briefly. "Why yes, Mr. Ivan has installed a wireless connection portal in the house for business purposes. We are free to use it as we like, but only I use it frequently. The others don't use it much."

"Hmm, I see." Gilbert rubbed his chin in thought, staring at the black laptop on the table. _Wireless internet, huh?_ He mused silently.

Then suddenly, the heard a loud noise of something fell, something made of glass it seemed. And it was followed by a loud whimper of pain, the voice sounded familiar. Eduard immediately stood up, palms on the table surface as he forced himself to stand in his hurry, his face twisted in both worry and fear as he turned his face towards the direction of the noise. Then he dashed off, uncaring of the chair that had fallen backwards with a loud thump, he didn't even bother to look back.

"Raivis! What's wrong?" He exclaimed loudly, leaving the room and the door closing behind him.

Gilbert heard the sounds of footsteps slowly fading away to a distance. He stared absently at the now tightly closed door, a left hand supported his chin. Then the moment he couldn't hear the footsteps anymore, he stood up quietly, glancing up at the ceilings, at the edges and corners of the room. No cameras. A smile appeared on his lips as he mumbled something softly. Then he walked over the table, towards the fallen chair.

He silently took it up and brought it to its place, then he sat right on it in front of the still active laptop, and the still logged in email address. He stared at it and smirked, before starting to type something on the keyboard, a bit slowly because he was using his left hand.

_To: L'AmourBonnefoy__

_By: EstExpert__

_Subject: Get me_

_Francis, it's Gilbert. I used some guy's email._

_Idk the address, but I'm trapped here in this freak house. Got a chance to mail to u so I did. Track the IP. It's still in the same town as urs, won't be too hard to find._

_There's this creepy loony Russian guy holding me back. Got me right arm shot. Can't move much or fight 'im off._

_Get me the hell outta here, 'k? Gonna pay u nice if u did it. I'll even recommend u to my clients._

_Get ur lazy ass here n' get me quick. Don't reply to this mail._

_G.W._

He clicked the sent button and waited until the report showed up. Gilbert deliberately deleted the report and the sent item, then did the same in the trash bin. He stood up and grabbed a hold on to the chair's back and carefully lowered it into the same position as when it fell, then he took a piece of clothe, wiping the surface he put his hands on until the traces of his fingerprints wore off. He didn't bother with the keyboard, since the fingerprints there had most likely gotten mixed up with the owner's anyway.

Gilbert then stood up, walking over to his own seat. Then he sat quietly there, waiting for someone to come and inform him that Raivis had injured himself or something.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: I know the grammars are terrible because when I'm tired, my grammar gets worse and there are probably some spelling errors here and there. But I'm too lazy to re-read it so… yeah. And yeah, Gilbert is still thinking of escaping. ;-) I think it's in his prideful and deviant nature that he won't back down or give up so easily. He's the awesome Prussia after all. :D

Anyway, tell me what you think! :3


	4. Breather

A/N: Ooookay… since people have been death-threatening me for my (laziness) absence and I realized it's been too long. Now I'm back. :D Sorry for the long wait, guys! I had the case when a writer wrote so much they got a bit sick of it :3 uuhh, yeah, I've slacked off with my other fics too. I'll definitely set it straight and start updating again :D Oh, and I've started writing another RussPruss fanfic, and it's of fantasy/supernatural/horror genre. Both RussPruss fans and non-RussPruss fans are free to check it up later when I publish it. Yes, it's not up yet, but will soon. ;)

P.S.: To those whose reviews haven't been properly replied. During my hiatus period, I rarely checked my email and when I opened it again, my inbox went crazy with alert notices that I haven't had the time to reply the reviews, plus uni has started again. I will reply them as much as I can D:

**Chapter Four: Breather**

"Gilbert. How is it?"

Gilbert threw an irritated look at the Russian far across of him, who was staring at him with his chin resting on the bridge of his entwined fingers. The knife and fork he was using a second ago were elegantly placed on an empty platter, stained with the brown fragrant sauce of tenderloin steak. Most of the dishes served in front of him had already emptied, only some leftovers remained.

Gilbert frowned, glancing down at the barely eaten piece of beef and the mess he made in an attempt to eat it with his left hand, including the sauce that spilt onto the expensive dining table and stained the white silk shirt he wore - in which he assumed to be designer shirt and ridiculously expensive too.

Even though there was about a five-feet marble dining table in between him and that loony Russian, the stain was too obvious to hide, hence heat rushed up to to his face all the way to his ears when he heard low chuckled coming from the direction of the blonde Russian.

"What?" He retorted sharply to hide his embarrassment.

"Is the food to your liking?" Ivan asked. Gilbert didn't know why he could hear him so clearly from quite a distant, but he thought the audio of the room and the lack of furnishing in that particular room had something to do with it.

"It's fine." He grunted, trying to take the whole steak by a fork and aiming the bottom of the meat to his gaping mouth. He did manage to do get a sloppy bite, but more sauce dripped down and stained the shirt further

It was a barbaric way to eat in such an elegant setting, but hell Gilbert didn't care. But it was really annoying that he couldn't eat it as fast and as much as he wanted. It was a steak, he couldn't just chew one or two times then gulp it down. He'd choke on it.

Ivan chuckled again as he smiled charmingly (or creepily, in Gilbert's opinion).

"You look like you're having some troubles there." He pointed it out teasingly.

Okay, that was more annoyance than he could take at the same time.

"My right arm's fucking _injured_. What do you expect? It can't magically heal up in a night or something. Just shut up and let me eat my dinner in peace." He blurted out, throwing irritated glares at the Russian before getting back to eating messily again. Not that he minded proper table manner at this rate.

He was aware that the Russian, who probably because he had nothing better to do, was watching him like a hawk. But he didn't care. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach and lost his appetite earlier when Toris informed him that Ivan ordered him to have a dinner with him. And damn, to make matters worse, the Russian had chased off the Lithuanian doctor out and only the two of them left in the freakishly big dining room. But he forced himself to eat, although it proved hard to do, but it's better for him to finish the dinner quickly so he could get away from the Russian as soon as possible.

_Shit, I forgot I have to share a freaking' bed with him. _Gilbert realized, cursing inwardly while toying with the potato cream potage, stirring the yellowish soup absent-mindedly. His luck just got worse and worse.

He heard a soft chuckle. "There's soup on your lips."

"Huh?"

Before he knew it, something lifted his head by the underside of his chin and a dark shadow loomed over him. Gilbert saw pale blonde hair and a pair of amethyst eyes were very close to him, then a pink tongue darted out slightly and he felt the warm and wet flesh brushed against the tender skin of his upper lip.

The German's crimson eyes widened slightly, while Ivan's amethyst-colored eyes in front of him stared right at Gilbert's. The warm tongue flicked lightly at the tender flesh of Gilbert's upper lip, but then a pair of cold lips pressed against it in turn. A pale hand had sneaked at the left side of his head to pull him closer, while the other settled on the German's lap, dragging it up dangerously close to his crotch. Now it finally came down to Gilbert's head that Ivan was kissing him, and had a hand touching his clothed body.

However, Gilbert didn't try to stop him. But he didn't react to the kiss too and kept his lips clenched when the Russian brushed his tongue across the tender flesh for an entrance. He just sat there accepting it unmoving, like a statue. But Ivan didn't seem to mind. He just pressed his lips against Gilbert's for another ten seconds before he pulled away.

The German didn't look very enthusiastic. But didn't look as angry. "…what was that for? Is that some kind of Russian habit, kissing strangers out of the blue?" He asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeves.

"No. We only kiss lovers or family that way." Ivan explained, smiling. Both of his hands had settled on the chair's arms, bending over while leaning forward closer to Gilbert.

"Well, I don't know what's your deal, but I don't swing that way." Gilbert stated, using his only useable arm to push Ivan's broad chest.

"You sure don't act like it." The Russian's lips tugged down to an indifferent line, his amethyst eyes turned a bit colder than usual. He grabbed Gilbert by his wrist and stared into his eyes. "You didn't outright reject me just now. And you didn't either the first time I kissed you."

Gilbert furrowed his silver eyebrows. "It's just a kiss. It doesn't mean a thing. Let go."

He tried to shaken the grip, but Ivan had a tight grip to it. Almost painfully.

"You've been with men, haven't you?" The Russian suddenly asked.

Crimson eyes widened and the German flinched slightly.

"…it's none of your business." He retorted, averting his gaze.

But when he felt the grip around his wrist tightened, so tight that he let out a surprised yelp.

"Tell me."

Gilbert swallowed the spit that gathered in the back of his throat when all the sugary pretense was drained from the Russian's voice, that it only left the cold bitterness behind. Once again, the German was suffocated by the unexplainable icy force that he only felt whenever the Russian's mood turned for the worse. He found it hard to breathe normally, nor to avoid the piercing gaze directed towards him. He didn't understand why. He didn't understand the reason why a professional like him would feel this way towards a civilian. But he knew one thing, that he was in disadvantage and resistance was futile. Although he hated to admit it.

Gilbert clenched his eyes shut.

"…sometimes someone of the same profession as I do had to do the worst to survive." He spoke in low voice, almost in whisper. His silver eyebrows furrowed deeply, remembering something unpleasant. Something that made him sick and disgusted each time he recalled it.

He expected a reaction, particularly a violent one, after he answered with such a vague answer. But unexpectedly to him, nothing came.

He opened his eyes and looked up, and saw the Russian was silent. His grip was still painfully strong, but his eyes had changed to something Gilbert had never seen before in him. Something akin to sadness and…. guilt? But Gilbert was sure he was just imagining things. Maybe the Russian pitied him. That would make more sense.

"I see." Ivan muttered as he released his grip and pulled away, standing up.

Ivan had an enigmatic look on his face. Gilbert was a bit confused, glancing up at the Russian questioningly. But he had turned away, that Gilbert could only look at his broad back covered in white robe.

"…the food's already gone cold. Go back to the bed, I'll have Toris bring warm meal and help you eat."

Then as sudden as the whole scene, Ivan left the room.

* * *

"What's up with him?"

Gilbert sulked, while Toris was cleaning up the tray of empty dishes and putting it away from the small table on the bed.

"Oh? Who do you mean?" Toris calmly asked, carefully wiping the German's mouth with a tissue. For once, Gilbert didn't complain and let the Lithuanian took care of him.

"Who else? I mean Ivan. He's been acting weird this evening. He just… took off during dinner without even a word. Rude guy."

Toris listened to Gilbert's complains calmly while changing the bandages. When it came to this, Toris was a very good listener. He never minded whenever Gilbert started complaining about Ivan's ever-increasing creepiness and bipolar tendencies. He was always willing to lend an ear, even though he was silent most of the time.

But for Gilbert, it's better than nothing, since the only person who was close to normal in this house was Toris, he was the only one the German could talk to, since the scaredy-cat guy seemed like he would piss his pants if Gilbert attempted to make a conversation, while the glasses-guy was rarely around and the swiss-guy was a nutsy who'd shoot anyone who sneaked up behind him by accident with a rifle.

Yes, this only convinced him that this house _truly_ was a madhouse. A mental prison, to be precise.

Gilbert sighed.

"I'm so bored." He muttered, while watching the Lithuanian doctor wrap the bandages around his arm skillfully. "I can't even do exercise because that loony thinks a bit of work would kill me. My body'll get soft if I don't do my daily training you know? At least I want to practice my left-hand shooting."

"Most physical training requires muscle strains in your arm. It's not advisable if you want it to heal quickly. It's already healing up very quickly, I'm a bit surprised." Toris explained with a gentle smile.

"I get it. But I just want to… you know… catch a fresh air or something. I've been stuck here for almost two weeks. I did nothing but sleeping and eating and lazing around. Sure it's nice walking around the garden, but seriously? I kinda miss the smell of the city."

The Lithuanian laughed softly. "You're an oddball, Gilbert. Most townspeople would say they'd prefer sometime off in the countryside. Why not think of this as a vacation break?"

"Would be nice if I wasn't forced to be here." Gilbert grumbled. "I just hate doing absolutely nothing, usually I'm busy with work and stuff. I like having something to work on. Besides, I have another reason… I need to get out of here."

"You're saying that kind of thing again - there, how is it? Is it too tight?" Toris asked, glancing up from the finely wrapped cast.

Gilbert moved the cast a bit. "A bit tight. But 'tis fine."

"Ah, good if it is." Toris smiled, putting the soiled bandages into an empty big bowl before standing up. "Excuse me, I have to go back. Good night, Gilbert. Rest well." He picked up the food tray then turned off the lights except for the bedside lamps.

After the Lithuanian left, the German let his head flopped down onto the soft cushion, breathing in the fresh scent of clean linen sheets with closed eyes. Then he opened them, looking at the empty spaces on his left. The bed was enormous. And with only Gilbert occupying a part of it, it felt a bit cold and lonely despite the thick blanket. But it was far better than when he had to sleep on silk sheets. He hated them. They were very soft, but cold. He hated sleeping on them. The first week he was there, he had put up with sleeping two times in the same room on the silk sheets. The third time he slept in the same room, Gilbert had slept on the carpet while Ivan slept on the bed.

Maybe rich people were used to it but Gilbert definitely disliked it. He was used to sleeping sloppily on a cramped couch, flatly on the carpet, he even had slept sitting against the moldy wall of a dark alley clad only in dirty rag when he was still a soldier. He could practically sleep everywhere. But not there. He wasn't used to such gentleness. He was trained to be as tough as steel, to handle difficulties and adapt in the most extreme environments. It had always been that way, living with a veteran father. He had raised his children with high discipline and strictness since his wife died when Gilbert was nine. His father was a true German.

Gilbert was used to be treated roughly. Be it by his father, his captain, or his clients. They treated him like a man he was raised into. Gilbert was not used to such extravagant leisure and pampering. And in a house full of strangers. It made him feel uncomfortable. Gilbert missed his freedom. He missed the dangerous excitement in the numerous jobs he took, he missed the filthy damp smell of city alleyways, the taste of nicotine in his mouth, and the feel of a woman's skin.

This place is a prison for a man like Gilbert, who loved to roam free in the shady streets of the big cities. Too much restrictions. Too quiet. Too… soft. He was being treated like some kind of a fairy princess and he did not like it at all. He was bored. Almost to the point of death. Gilbert didn't like it here. This place made him feel uncomfortable, and made him feel something that was foreign to him. He didn't know what that was, but he was sure he didn't want to know.

He wanted to get out.

Gilbert brought his left arm and placed it over his eyes.

"…I'm so bored."

"You do seem like it."

Caught by surprise, Gilbert flung his arm aside and pushed his body up with his left hand, only to realize a hand had halted his movement by his left shoulder. The Russian was sitting on the bed side, clad only in rather thick robe. He was smiling at Gilbert, with his hand settled on the injured man's shoulder blade. Scarlet eyes widened slightly as they gazed at the ominous smiling mask the bigger man wore. He glared at those icy violet eyes, feeling cold sweat dampening the back of his pajamas.

Gilbert swallowed.

"You don't look good." Ivan brought a hand up and gently placed it on Gilbert's cheek.

Gilbert flinched at the icy touch. "I didn't hear you coming." He uttered, hiding the faint tremble in his voice.

The German shot a brief glance at the tightly closed door. He didn't even hear the door opening or closing at all. Was he truly getting dull or had the Russian really managed to sneak up on him? No one but his father and very few people were able to pull that off. Or had he fallen asleep for a moment there? No. Gilbert was a light sleeper. Any faint noise would wake him up immediately.

"Ah, did you? I thought you were asleep, so I didn't want to wake you." Ivan answered smoothly, but it made the albino suspicious.

_Since when had he been here?_ Gilbert's left fist clutched at the sheets beneath him. Her could hear his heart beating in his ears.

Ivan's blond eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Don't look like that. I will not do anything to you. I just want to see how you were doing." The cold pale fingers that cupped Gilbert's ear seemed to tighten lightly. Ivan looked a bit hurt.

Although the statements were meant to reassure, Gilbert had a hard time believing it. The memory of his freshly shot arm being twisted and squeezed until it bled more blood still stung the now closed wound whenever he remembered it. Sometimes he didn't understand. Ivan was capable of being very gentle, yet another time he would become violent and merciless when things didn't go his way. He was unpredictable, if not mentally unstable. And that made Gilbert all the more confused. When could he and could he not trust Ivan's words, he wondered.

Seeing the lack of reaction in Gilbert's part, Ivan sighed. "I heard from Toris that you're unsatisfied with your current lifestyle. I believe he said you were… 'bored to death'."

Gilbert raised a white eyebrow. "He told you that?"

"I asked him to tell me." The Russian calmly said. "And apparently it's true. That you're bored."

Gilbert's gaze went down to his lap. His hand went through silver strands.

"Look, I'm not used to this kind of life, okay? I've never lived in such luxury and being pampered like a prince. I'm a roughneck. I do rough jobs for a living. Sure, I live pretty decently, but not like this. I'm used to living alone and independently. I like doing things that keep my hands full. I hate lying around doing nothing. And this place… I've never been thrown to prison, but I feel like I'm living inside one now." He sighed, scratching the back of his head.

Ivan was silent meanwhile, seemingly thoughtful. Then he spoke. "Do you want to work?"

The German looked up at the Russian. "…yeah, I guess that's better than being stuck here."

"I understand." Ivan stated, withdrawing his hand. "Usually, I won't take injured employees to work, but I can make an exception for you. If you want to start early, I'll make some preparations."

Gilbert was confused. "What?"

Ivan smiled at him. "Starting tomorrow, you will go with me to the town to work. Toris will show you what you have to do. But you must always stay close to me."

"Wait, what?" Gilbert interrupted. "Do you mean it? I-I can seriously get out?"

Ivan nodded. "Yes, but you will be under Toris' and Vasch's surveillance as well."

Gilbert suddenly perked up, his red eyes shone in delight. "I don't care! That's awesome! That's way better than being here! I missed being outside!"

It had been a while since he felt this happy. No, he was _ecstatic_! Finally, he could leave this boring place, although he was still very much restricted. But he didn't care. At least he could see other people than the mansion's few residents. And maybe… maybe he could get a chance to escape, or better yet, meet with Francis. That would be great. Though he might not be able to escape anytime soon because he still couldn't move his right arm very much, but at least he could go to the town.

Ivan looked unusually pleased with Gilbert's enthusiasm. "I'm glad that you're happy." He smiled sweetly, in his sugary child-like tone.

Gilbert grinned widely. "Yeah, I don't feel like killing you right now!" He exclaimed cheerfully.

I'm glad to hear that. Now…" He stood up, adjusting his robe.

Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "Where are you going? Not that I want you to be here any longer though."

"I have some more work to do. I'll be late tonight. You can sleep first." Ivan smiled thinly, bending over. He planted a kiss on Gilbert's lips.

The German wiped his mouth as soon as the Russian pulled away. But as always, Ivan only smiled at the gesture.

"Good night, Little Gilbert."

"…asshole."

* * *

Ivan closed the door behind him carefully and soundlessly.

The hallway was dark, only the moonlight that went in from the lone window lighted the hall dimly. Ivan stood before the door, looking absently at the empty wall in front of him. He could hear the faint footsteps from the first floor and someone chatting in a distant. But there was also the lively song of the insects that resided in his garden. The Russian closed his eyes and listened to it. Hearing them singing soothed him. They were the beauty created by nature.

"Mr. Ivan…" Came a gentle, yet faintly shaky voice coming from his right. The person's face was covered by the darkness of the room, but he could tell exactly who was the owner of such kind voice.

At first Ivan didn't answer, he was still listening to the song. But a short moment later, he spoke in a soft voice. "Tomorrow he will come with us. As planned, we will go to Rome. Prepare for everything." Then he turned to the other way, and started to walk away."

"B-but sir." Toris hesitantly called out. "Does… does he know about this?"

Ivan stopped on his track suddenly. The nervous Lithuanian gulped, his body was shaking. Cold sweat was running down his temples.

"…he does not have to know. One of his acquaintance is residing in the town as we speak. Gilbert will try to do anything to contact them. We have to move him before they met. Is that understood?"

Toris flinched at the sharp coldness in the Russian's voice. He took a hesitant step back, averting his eyes. He bit onto his lower lip lightly. "…understood, sir."

"Good."

Ivan left the smaller man behind him, walking along the dark hallway. As he walked, his head was filled with thoughts. Memories flashed before his eyelids. Images of old buildings and houses. Faces of children, and of his sisters. The smile of a red-eyed, white-haired boy.

Ivan closed his eyes.

And fire burning their home … black corpses … and the sight of blood. Red blood. Red flame. Just like his eyes.

He opened his eyes. He had stopped on his track again, staring at the half-moon beyond the wide high window.

_I finally have you. _

His fists tightened on his sides.

…_and I will never let you go._

_

* * *

_

TBC…


	5. Rendezvous Point

A/N: Here's extra-long chapter to rekindle the RussPruss soul in me. It has been too long. Forgive me for making you all wait.;

Here's a hint for the future chapters: It's about to get interesting.

Be warned though. I'm not German nor do I speak it. Some statements in german may be grammatically incorrect.

* * *

**Chapter Five: Rendezvous Point**

A child was awaken in the midst of a night, his skin as pale white as the color of the round moon beyond the unbound window.

Beads of cold sweat broke out and dripped down his skin in tiny rivulets, soaking his shirt. Clutching at the hem of the sheets, he boy looked around in panic with his crimson eyes wide opened. His other hand snaked quickly under the covers beneath his pillow and reached for his gun, then with trembling hands he cocked it forward, searching the room with fear written in his eyes. His fingers strayed to the triggers of the revolver. His arms outstretched straight away.

What met his gaze was the darkness of the bedroom and the rays of moonlight peeking through the window, lighting the gloomy scenery around him dimly. Nothing. He found nothing. There was no one. Those scary men were nowhere to be found.

_A dream_.

He'd finally realized. _It was just a nightmare_.

He relaxed his limbs, letting his hands flopped down onto the sheets. Though relieved, his little mind was still buzzing noisily and his heart beating out of control. The feelings of hands all over him, trying to capture him and the thunder-like footsteps stalking him in the darkness, hadn't gone away. And the noise within his head raged on. He couldn't possibly wipe it all away so easily.

The gunshots, the voice of strangers shouting and his father's last scream…

Gilbert shuddered at the memory.

"Big bwothe… ? Wha's wwong?"

The sheets next to him stirred. A tiny hand reached out to him, grabbing onto his forearm. Unlike Gilbert's pale white skin, that small knuckle was more tan in color. Then a bundle of pale sunshine peeked out of the sheets and a pair of curious blue eyes stared at him sleepily, a hand went up to rub the sleepiness away.

At the sight of his little brother, the chaos in his mind faded away like the morning fog. Almost immediately, Gilbert's shoulders dropped and he felt at ease. He felt like a bucket of fresh water was poured in to his dry throat to calm a stubborn fever. It was refreshing.

He was even able to let a small smile graced his lips, which quickly turned to a wide grin. His eyes squinted like a fox's. An outstretched hand went the the bundle of sunshine, patting the five-year-old's head soothingly.

"It's nothing, Luddie!" Gilbert chirped cheerfully. "Did big brother wake you up? I'm so sowry!"

The small blonde boy blinked a few times.

"Big bwothe can't sleep?" He tilted his head to one side.

Gilbert almost squeaked as he struggled to make an excuse. "Uh-uh, big brother can't sleep 'coz it's hot! Yep, that's why~ Don't worry, Luddie, just sleep okay? Big brother will sleep again too." He cooed, gently pushing the much smaller frame down onto the cushion.

Little Ludwig let his older brother tucked him, staring at Gilbert with wide blue eyes. He giggled when Gilbert tickled him on purpose.

"You like that? Here, here!"

Gilbert continued tickling him for the hell of it.

"Tee-hee, stop it! Big bwothe's bad!" Ludwig squealed joyously.

"Hahaha!" Gilbert stopped after a while, lying down on his side. He propped an elbow on the pillow to watch his younger brother.

Ludwig was staring at him with those adorable expression only a toddler could muster.

"Big bwothe's like a bunny!" He stated curiously.

"Eeeh~ How so?" Gilbert grinned foxily, his other hand reaching out to pinch Ludwig's chubby cheek.

"'coz…'coz…" the smaller boy tried to find the words in his limited vocabulary. Then he had a look he made every time he found an idea. "'coz big bwothe's eyes awe wed!" He exclaimed.

"My eyes are red?" The older boy chuckled amusedly.

"Uh-huh!" Ludwig nodded enthusiastically. "And… and… big bwothe's head is white! Like snow! Tha's why big bwothe's like a bunny!"

"Is that so~?" Gilbert sing-sang, grinning.

The five-year-old tilted his head to stare at his big brother.

"But big bwothe's face is like foxies." He pointed out.

The older boy laughed out loud. Ludwig giggled.

"Okay, okay. Enough now. It's bed time!" Gilbert patted the sheets covering Ludwig.

Ludwig took out a hand to clutch at Gilbert's shirt.

"Big bwothe's gonna be with Lud, wight?" He looked up at him pleadingly, the brilliance of his blue eyes was clouded by childish fear.

Gilbert felt like his heart was being gnawed sharply in the inside.

"Of course I will." He promised, trying hard to ignore the pain in his chest. "I'll always be with you. Always."

"Yay!" Ludwig exclaimed cheerfully, snuggling close to the older boy. Gilbert cradled him closer in response, kissing the top of his head.

"Lud loves big bwothe," Ludwig uttered happily, inhaling his older brother's familiar scent. "Big bwothe and Lud always togethew. Big bwothe pwomise. Lud pwomise Lud always with big bwothe too."

Had the little boy looked up, he would've noticed that the smile on Gilbert's smile was a little bit too lonely.

"Yeah…" Gilbert uttered softly, tracing his palm over Ludwig's back, comforting.

Both boys closed their eyes. While Ludwig slipped into slumber quickly, Gilbert remained awake, wishing the morning never came.

Because the next morning Ludwig would be taken away by his new family, kicking and crying and begging to an impassive Gilbert. And he would return to his room shortly after to cry his eyes dry, clutching at the bedsheets where his younger brother's warmth still lingered.

"Mr. Gilbert?"

The said man snapped his eyes open, waking to the worried-looking Toris who had been shaking his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, are you awake?" He sounded apologetic, withdrawing his hand cautiously.

The german turned around and found he was in the backseat of a car with the Lithuanian next to him as his companion. The front row was occupied by that crazy swiss and Eduard, who was driving the car. Then he'd finally realized what he was doing.

"Oh." His mouth made an O shape. _A dream_, he'd thought.

"Sorry, I was just… dozing off." He mumbled out loud. His hand ran through his silver hair, surprised to find that it was a bit damp.

Toris paused and looked unsure for a moment, as if he couldn't decide whether to speak or not. This behavior piqued Gilbert's attention.

"What's wrong?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," Toris uttered. "I probably shouldn't pry… but you were thrashing around as you slept, I was a bit worried."

Gilbert raised both eyebrows.

"I did? …what else did I do?"

"And… you called out a name repeatedly, if I may say."

"What? Whose name did I call out?"

"I believe, it's 'Ludwig'…"

Gilbert's expression turned stiff. It was a look Toris had never seen him wearing. The german was a very expressive man who wasn't afraid to let the world know of his opinions. He was an energetic and brash man. That was why Toris had never imagined he could show such cold darkness upon his visage.

He suddenly turned quiet, when he was usually talkative, especially to Toris, whom he seemed to consider as a friend. The Lithuanian doctor didn't pry further, and they both fell silent along the ride. Once in a while he stole glimpses at the unusually quiet german, feeling worried. Actually, Toris hadn't told him the whole truth; when Gilbert was having a brief nap, he did thrash around and he did moan incorrigible words in his sleep like he was having a nightmare.

Seeing him like that, Toris couldn't help but to approach Gilbert, he had his hand on his shoulder and was about to shake him awake when he heard him moaning.

_"… Lud… I'm sorry … Ludwig… …sorry..." Gilbert moaned out, eyes clenched shut. His face contorted in pain. He uttered the apologetic words over and over again in a voice that could tear at the most hardened of hearts. _

Upon hearing it, he felt guilty as if Toris had heard something forbidden. Something he shouldn't know.

That was why he opted silence.

Gilbert stared at the blurry scenery, his mind wandering elsewhere. Then he lowered his head, one of his hand reached to the collar of his suit and then it snaked in, pulling out an old revolver. It was black and white in color with small engravings of classic symbols chiseled along the body and the handle, the colors had faded and chips of dried paint had fallen off, creating minuscule holes along the otherwise well-taken care of antique.

_A dream of the past_, he thought, creasing his eyebrows. _I thought I haven't got one in a while. I guess the painkillers have its uses; I slept like the dead these past weeks._

Now that his arm had gotten a lot better, Toris had stopped giving him sedative. It would be a trouble to get addicted to sleeping pills, the Lithuanian had reasoned. His arm still stung, but not so much. Gilbert could sleep easily as long as he didn't agitate or move his cast. Toris hadn't remove the bandages yet, but had change it to something that would be more convenient for traveling purposes.

Gilbert have had the chance to train his injured arm whenever Toris changed his bandages routinely. He felt like he could move it much easier, his fingers were quite nimble although he couldn't raise his arm to his head because the damaged muscle would start burning at him.

But for someone like him, that much was enough.

Gilbert took his gun and put it in his suit inner pocket, making sure it was tucked in securely.

He stayed quiet along the ride, taking in the common city scenery with little interest. He observed the passing pedestrians and restaurants in the town's City Square, envying the freedom those people had while he had to be stuck being babysat by a bunch of grown man in suit. Gilbert had wanted to get out of that mansion so much, but it might not be enough, he decided.

He needed to get away from these people. Especially from that Russian madman. He needed to be free.

"We'll arrive at the building soon." Eduard announced from the driver's seat.

Gilbert lifted his head hem Toris kindly pointed out their destination; two tower-like glass buildings stood in the center of the town, both building was interconnected by two bridges at the top of the buildings and at the middle section, while they were connected in the base, showing that they truly were of one and the same. The architectural design of the building was fit to be owned by a man with exceptional wealth.

Although that had nothing to do with Gilbert.

He had enough of this city and this country. How he wished he could go back home to Europe …

He swore by his late father's name, he would make sure he'd return home. Gilbert tightened his fists. Ludwig was waiting for him. He absolutely must not waste any more time. He must escape.

But for now, Gilbert waited until the designated chance arrived.

The car stopped by the grand lobby of the building. Toris insisted to step out first so he could assist the helplessly injured Gilbert (much to Gil's annoyance). Eduard was giving the car keys to the valet as Vash stood beside him, watching Gilbert and Toris like a grumpy guard dog.

Gilbert wondered why the swiss hadn't gone nuts over the fact that he couldn't bring along his precious rifle. He always had that dark-smily-crazed look on his face every time he obsessively cleaned that thing with a cloth rag, as if it was the most important thing in his life. Nutso.

After they've gotten off the car, the glass entrance automatically opened to reveal the least person Gilbert wanted to meet. Ivan came out with two huge bodyguards behind him, his arms were wide spread in (unwanted) welcome. Gilbert dreaded it when the tall Russian approached to give him a bear hug, sparing no more pleasantries to the others.

"I've been waiting for you, Gilbert!" Ivan sung happily like a child, a wide satisfied grin plastered across his face as he crushed the smaller man in a tight embrace.

Had his right arm not injured and covered in thick bandages, Gilbert would've had enough strength to push away this giant of a man. But because he was injured, he had to endure suffocating against Ivan's chest.

As if to scar him further, after Ivan released him, the Russian shamelessly circled his arms around his lower back and gave him a brief _kiss_ on the lips. He smiled brightly afterwards.

Gilbert was _very_ _tempted_ to headbutt the hell out of the damned man.

But he opted for a more subtle way instead.

"_fass mich nicht an, du dementer mutterfickender Sohn einer Hure. Sonst hol ich mir noch deine Tollwut_. (don't touch me, you demented mother-fucking son of a whore. I'll catch your rabies)" He muttered ferociously.

Toris couldn't hear what he'd said, in the other hand Ivan's smile became stiffer.

"_Mein Liebling_ (my darling)," He leaned in and whispered in the German's ear. "_Solch schreckliche Sprache! Ich kann es kaum enwarten dich spater du bestrafen._ (such terrible language! I can't wait to punish you later.)"

Gilbert glared at him.

"I'm not afraid of _you_," He barked in whisper. "do your worst, if you dare."

Although he tried not to wince when he saw that evil glint sparked within those amethyst eyes.

"I've not seen you for a few hours and I already missed your snarky responses!" Ivan chirped, releasing Gilbert out of his misery.

Gilbert wiped his mouth with his sleeve, taking a few steps away from the nutty Russian.

"I'm hungry. You told me I can go take a stroll to the city, not going to your freakin' office. If I'm gonna be stuck in a closed room with you again, I'd rather go back to that asylum you call home." He spared no time to complain.

Toris' paled at his impertinence, looking as if he would faint. Eduard seemed intrigued by Gilbert's dumb bravery. While Vash didn't show any reaction, although his eyes darted between Gilbert and his employer.

"As rude as ever, Little Weilschmidt."

Gilbert held his breath when the words were rolling out of his tongue was dripping with venom. A dark shadow had dusked upon his handsome visage. He was still smiling, but it was a smile that was colder than ice. His eyes darkened with an insanity Gilbert had never seen before in a mentally stable man. The one thing that managed to frighten him so.

The German clenched his jaw and tightened his fist as he gulped down the air, trying not to break into panic.

However, a second later, the darkness around Ivan changed as he once again smiled cheerfully, taking a hold on Gilbert's shoulders.

"I am not _a liar_, my darling Gilbert. But of course I remember my promise to you. I shall let you have a feast in a restaurant at the center of the city square. They provide delicious cuisines there that I am sure you will love." He sing-sang, leaning in to the suddenly quiet man.

"However," His tone of voice took a sharp turn downwards as he whispered to Gilbert's ears. "do try not to do anything… _foolish_. Remember, my dear beloved Gilbert. If you somehow managed to slip away from me… when that happens…" He whispered so softly that only the two of them could hear.

"I will search for you. I will look in every country and every city, in every house and every cheap hotel you're staying at,_ in each and every single nook and cranny_ of the world to the depths of hell itself, even if it'll take years of devotion, until I have you in my arms once again…" He paused and withdrew.

Gilbert's scarlet eyes widened and he felt as if he would choke from the lack of air when he saw the crazed look on the Russian man's face; a look of obsession, of desperation, of insanity and of depravity, all rolled into one demonic mix. Looking at his face was like the looking at the face of a death god, one who would search through the heaven and the hell in order to harvest his soul.

Seemingly satisfied by his reaction, Ivan reverted to his 'normal' demeanor, smiling sweetly at the shaken man.

Gilbert almost stumbled backwards when the other man released his grip from him, Toris caught him from behind, looking down at him apologetically.

"Toris, Eduard and Vash. You will escort Gilbert to the city square and make sure he is well-fed and well-guarded, while I'm not around." Ivan turned on his back and walked towards the entrance of the building. Eduard and Vash both bowed respectfully as their master passed by them.

Gilbert had recovered after a while, glaring daggers at the much taller man's back from behind Toris' arms.

"_You Russian piece of shit!_"

He barked indignantly, voice hoarse.

"Mr. Gilbert…!"

Toris face bleached when the targeted man stopped on his heels.

The Lithuanian tried his best to hold him off, but Gilbert was furious. He might be able to hold his injured body at bay, but no one could stop him from voicing his heart out at the top of his lungs.

"You hear me!" Gilbert continued as Ivan stood motionless.

"I think you are full of shit! Do you think everything can be bought with money? Well, too bad! You can have your freakin' mansion, your crazy-ass bodyguards and luxury buildings as much as you want, but hear me! Nobody in this world can buy this Gilbert Weilschmidt even with _all treasure in the world piled on top of the other_!"

His screaming was starting to attract attention from bystanders.

Toris was visibly panicking now. The other two bodyguards, Vash and Eduard could only stare in blatant surprise with the former's mouth hung agape.

But Gilbert didn't care.

"Don't underestimate me, _asshole_! I am no momma's boy who's born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I grew up relying on my own freakin' strength! Do you think you can intimidate the hell out of me and _expect me to act like your obedient little bitch_? Think again! I will never, ever surrender to the likes of you, you hear me? Let me spell it to you. Never!"

Those words all came out in one breath, until Gilbert's throat burned for air. He panted afterwards, sucking in the much needed air deeply, meanwhile still glaring at Ivan's imposing back.

He sucked in and held his breath to grace himself for the upcoming retort.

Which much to his surprise, never came.

Ivan stood completely still for a few seconds only to calmly continue on his way into the building, completely apathetic.

To say he was shocked, was an understatement. He was screaming his lungs out and that lunatic didn't even pay any heed of it? Gilbert felt even more angry than he had ever been in his life. He was so angry he was rendered utterly speechless, which a relieved Toris misunderstood as a sign of him calming down.

In reality, his mood had swooped down so low, Gilbert didn't feel like talking or putting up a resistance when Toris escorted him into the car.

And it didn't take a genius to notice Gilbert's dreadful spirits.

"Mr. Gilbert, are you alright? Do you need anything?" The ever-attentive doctor cooed, he seemed anxious.

Gilbert felt bad for troubling such a nice person. Not to mention he had once again broke his promise not to make Ivan angry, which he'd broken several times that day. Or for those other times when he tried to tick off the Russian on daily basis. He'd lost count already.

He felt like he'd be the death of Toris Lorinaitis if this went on.

"I'm okay." The german uttered guiltily. "Just a bit grumpy 'coz I'm hungry."

Toris smiled brightly. "Ah, I know of a nice restaurant with very wonderful European cue cisine downtown. The desserts are particularly excellent. I recommend you trying the cheese cake. Apparently they've won awards for them."

Gilbert thought of it for a second.

"I like cheese cake."

"Then I'd be happy to lead you there!"

This conversation should be reserved to a mother and her sulking child. Not a bunch of grown men.

The thought made Gilbert shudder.

They went to the central city square. Eduard parked their Benz in the public parking lot before joining the group. Toris had kindly offered Gilbert to look around first before deciding where they would like to settle. The square was buzzing with people. There was a city park with a man-made lake in the middle of the extensive green land. Rows of restaurant and bar lined up just outside of the park, circling around the centre square.

In the middle, stood a ten-foot stone fountain surrounded by park benches. Some people sat to eat their lunch. An elderly man was resting on a bench while feeding the pigeons. Children were running around playing joyously in their own little world. Most of the cafes were chock-full of people who were having lunch with their coworkers, it was lunch time after all.

Gilbert picked the restaurant Toris recommended earlier. It was located at the corner of a fork road, strategically built that one could see the best view of the city park and the square, as well as a gothic cathedral in the other side of the streets. Wanting to savor this chance as much as he could, the german chose a table in the outdoor section of the restaurant. Although it was a hot day, the table had a cloth shelter right above their table to shade them away from the glaring sun.

Gilbert sat in a table for two with Toris, while Vash and Eduard sat in the table next to them.

He let Toris choose the food since he seemed to know the good stuff, while Gilbert took his time observing bystanders and enjoying his short moment of freedom.

"Mr. Gilbert are you fine with lamb?" Toris peeked from the menu book to ask.

"Sure."

He answered without looking.

"Then, I would like to order this one. Oh, can you explain to me what this is?" The Lithuanian resumed his conversation with the waiter.

Eduard seemed to be enjoying a cup of coffee while typing something on his laptop, seemingly absorbed in it. Vash… being Vash, he had pulled out one of his guns (without an ounce of care that other customers shot him nervous glances) and started cleaning it carefully.

Gilbert rolled his eyes.

He'd finally got out of that prison of a house, but freedom hadn't tasted as sweet as he had thought it would be. Maybe it was because that freedom was merely an illusion that damned Russian mob offered to him. But dammit, Gilbert couldn't miss the chance of inhaling the outside air even if it was for a short period of time.

After a while, the food came. Toris had ordered a Grecian lamb dish with some boiled potatoes on the side, while Toris was having some herb chicken. The food was very nice, more than he had expected. Despite the unpleasantness he'd encountered earlier that day, finally something good came to replenish his mood. Gilbert ate his food heartily with a gusto (even though he needed some help from Toris), he'd even ordered some desserts. Which turned out to be perfect as well; no wonder Toris raved compliments for this restaurant.

With a full stomach, Gilbert had completely forgotten all about Ivan. But the minute he finished his dessert, he came to realize he would soon be escorted back to that infuriating man's place again. He put up a cheerful front for Toris, but inwardly he was frustrated. He tried to cheer himself up by savoring what left of his limited freedom, gazing absently at the city scenery before all of it robbed away from him.

He watched some children playing kites in nearby the fountain, causing the pigeons to go nuts. It was quite the view, what with hundreds of pigeons taking off the ground one after another at the exact same moment. It was almost like some classic wedding scene.

The german was watching all of this attentively, when he noticed something.

He blinked.

An old man who was feeding the pigeons earlier was staring at him. And he had been doing so for a while. He was sitting right across Gilbert's line of sight about twenty meters in distance, wearing a dirty trench coat that made him look puffy and a hat that obscured the top part of his face. His shoulder-length wavy hair was completely grey in color, and he had impressively thick mustache and beard of the same color that covered his jaws, chin and most part of his mouth.

_Who in their right mind would wear a trench coat in such a hot day?_

Just as he was about to take a better look at the elderly man's face, a high-pitched scream halted him.

"AAAAHHH MY LAPTOP! MY LAPTOP!"

Eduard was standing up, screaming at the top of his lung while a waiter was trying to clean up something. Gilbert glanced down at the source of his horror and found out that a waitress had spilled coffee all over Eduard's beloved laptop, thus his apparent distress. The waitress was apologizing frantically as she tried to undo the undoable. When the manager came, it became a scene.

When Toris and Vash were preoccupied by the incident, Gilbert tore his gaze towards the elderly man again. This time he could see his blue eyes. There was no way he could ever mistake the eyes of his childhood friend.

_I knew it, Francis!_

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as Gilbert rejoiced inwardly.

Francis in disguise put a finger to his lips and winked, resuming to lift what seemed to be giant cue cards. Gilbert squinted his eyes.

_West Public Restroom. Corner Stall. 30 mins._

That was all that was written on that board, before Francis took it down in a few seconds. Gilbert smirked appreciatively at him. Francis only glanced at him once before he stood up and left.

The german cautiously turned his attention back to his 'companions' who hadn't seem to realize his secret conversation with his accomplice. Toris was trying to calm down the angry Eduard who was scolding the waitress and the manager, Vash was watching at the other two with great interest. While nobody was looking, Gilbert let a victorious smile gracing his visage.

The restaurant promised to refund for the helplessly broken computer ten minutes later, resolving the problem. However, Eduard looked as if the world had just ended for him. He kept murmuring things about losing many of irreplaceable data and such with a grim cloud hanging over his head. Toris and Vash tried to cheer him up to no avail (although Vash only managed to make things worse with his curt remarks).

While they were busy, Gilbert glanced at the public restroom at the end of the road and then checked his wristwatch. He had eighteen minutes to go. He needed to act fast.

"I need to go. Nature's calling." He declared to his companions, who'd agreed to let him go before they left.

Gilbert cursed that he wasted five minutes to convince Toris _he did not need help in the bathroom _and that he wasn't comfortable having them wait for him _inside_. Jesus Christ, he wasn't a five-year old who couldn't take a tinkle by himself!

It was a good thing that particular restroom was a tad far away from the restaurants and was closer to the parking lot; the restroom was almost empty. The last guy who went in just passed by Gilbert on his way out. He licked his lips in anticipation. A sudden rush of adrenaline surged from within his body, his heart beating in his ears.

He entered the dim-lighted restroom, swiftly making sure there was nobody around. Then he checked his watch. Twelve minutes left. He had to hurry.

Not wasting any more time, Gilbert slipped into the designated stall at the corner.

The stall was a bit dirty and there was moss growing at the base of the toilet. He took a brief glance at the whole scene. A high window was placed right above the toilet, so Gilbert peeled off his expensive leather shoes and climbed up. He slid it open with little difficulties then he looked over, there was a narrow alley at the back of the toilet that led to the other side of the square. Pulling his head back, he mentally noted the width and height of the window.

He concluded it was of perfect size. A skinny man like Gilbert would be able to crawl out if he tried hard enough. But the problems lied in his cast.

Gilbert went down and started to think. Then it came down to him.

_Francis must've left me something here..._

Otherwise he wouldn't have chosen a restroom for this job. Gilbert then proceeded to open the lid of the water-way box and he saw a big bundle of plastic bag occupying the narrow space, slightly soaked at the bottom.

Quickly and soundlessly Gilbert took it out and opened it, having used to always rely on his left hand proved useful to make it a little easier for him. The first thing he got was a brand new all-purpose Military Bayonet. Its sharp blade glistened in sunlight.

He stared at it for a second, before he started cutting the front of his shirt.

* * *

Fifteen minutes ago, Francis had discarded his old man disguise and now he was dressed in his normal casual outfit.

The disguise was very uncomfortable and unbearably hot. He needed to look convincing and yet slightly off so his accomplice would be able to tell, but he also needed to blend into the scene so well he was practically invincible. He chose the disguise of a homeless elderly, wearing a fake beer belly underneath the loose trench coat and a flat hat.

He went as far as to paint his luscious golden hair grey, patched up a fake nose and covered his face with special makeup, then attached fake beard and mustache to finish off the look. Well, not even his mother could recognize Francis in that getup! One required a special skill to see through that disguise. He was sure Gilbert would be able to tell.

After all, they were childhood friends.

Francis took a look at his wristwatch. Ten minutes before the deadline, so he casually turn to go wait for Gilbert in that dirty, cramped alleyway behind the public restroom. Oh, the things he'd do for friendship.

He was strolling along the alley taking his time. After a few minutes passed, he checked his watch again. Six minutes left. Several feet away from the designated spot, Francis looked up and saw Gilbert was half-way crawling out of the narrow window while groaning through his teeth.

_In_ _nude_.

His german childhood friend noticed him right away.

"Shut your fucking mouth and get in here, you asshole."

The frenchman had to swallow his surprise and ran to help his friend.

Francis quickly circled his arms around Gilbert's waist, while the latter grabbed at the former's shoulder. The frenchman pulled his childhood friend slowly and carefully, managing to fully extract him out within a minute. Gilbert was dangling on Francis' shoulders, his feet didn't touch the ground. He was inhaling and exhaling deeply, taking long breaths.

"Thanks," He rasped.

"Don't mention it." Francis smiled as he lowered the smaller man.

Gilbert winced. "Careful. My right arm's..."

"My apologies." The frenchman uttered, being careful until Gilbert stood on his feet. "Your arm is still injured, I'm guessing?"

"No." Gilbert said, clutching at his useless arm.

Something didn't quite right with the way it dangled limply at his side.

"I dislocated my arm. Help me set it back."

Francis gaped at him, wide-eyed.

"You _what_?"

"I needed to squeeze through that small opening. What did you expect? It's injured and useless anyway, the cast was way too big. Here, hold this for me." Gilbert took a tattered cloth from the plastic bag Francis provided him, and handed it over.

He took it.

" … what happened to your clothes?" The older man asked as he helped his friend taking out the contents of the bag.

"I tore them apart. Takes time taking it off the usual way. Put the rag to my mouth. Quick." the german opened his mouth. Francis did.

After he had bit comfortably at the cloth, he signaled Francis. The frenchman nodded once, then he clutched at Gilbert's shoulder, setting it to its socket with a dull thump. Gilbert gave out a low pained growl, taking a sharp intake of air. He spit out the rag seconds later. He panted with blood-shot eyes. His naked skin glistened in cold sweat.

Francis gave him an apologetic smile.

"We need to hurry. Help me get dressed." He croaked.

He obediently helped Gilbert slid into a new pair of underwear and trousers that Francis had put into the plastic bag. He tilted his head when he noticed some torn cloths in the bag that he didn't remember had put inside. Must be the torn suit. Such a waste.

"It's been a while since I locked myself in the stall. They ought to come checking up for me soon." The younger man warned as the older helped buckle him up.

"I know. I have the keys to the butcher shop's storage room. It's nearby. Let's hide there for a while and brainstorm."

Gilbert grinned weakly.

"I can always count on you, _mein Freund_."

Francis winked.

"Anything for you, _mon ami_."

The frenchman took off his own jacket and draped it over Gilbert, who slid his arms into the sleeves and zipped it up. Francis took the bag before they went off together.

Several minutes later, Toris and his companions had grown anxious that Gilbert had taken too long in the restroom. The Lithuanian doctor decided to go in to check up of him, in case something happened. He entered the seemingly empty restroom, calling for the short-tempered german.

"Mr. Gilbert?" He called out.

Nobody answered him.

Toris peeked into the urinals, but couldn't find him anywhere. Then a sense of urgency came to him, it was just a thought that he tried to shrug away because Gilbert certainly wasn't fit for such an attempt. But it was a definite possibility. Then, half-panicked, he went to the stalls, opening the door one by one while calling out to Gilbert again.

They were all empty except for the last one at the corner, the stall was locked from the inside.

"Mr. Gilbert? Mr. Gilbert! Are you okay? Please open the door! Gilbert!" He banged at the door loudly, over and over again. But only silence greeted him.

_Oh no_. _No no no no no no no!_

A bead of cold sweat dripped down his temples.

"What happened? You were shouting like crazy!"

Vash and Eduard came inside, finding a terrified-looking Toris standing by a locked door. After explaining to them briefly, they decided to bust the door open. With their combined strength, they were able to unlock the hinges. But the stall was empty. They noticed a narrow window above the toilet was wide-opened, it was a small opening, but could fit a skinny man.

Toris' lips tightened.

He turned around to the other two, his voice stern and his expression stiffened.

"Request for back up quickly! He can't be far away." He told the others, who swiftly nodded.

After Eduard and Vash went out on a search, Toris inspected the stall carefully. The floor was covered in torn rags of exceptional materials. They had the same color as Gilbert's clothes. He also found the remaining of the cast.

_To go so far just to escape…_ Toris bit his lower lip. _I've underestimated you, Gilbert._

Toris snaked his hand into his suit's inner pocket and fished out a black cellphone. He pressed the speed dial and waited until the line reached. When he heard that person's voice, he inhaled sharply and held his breath.

"Hello? It's Toris, sir. First of all, I would like to offer you my sincerest apology for my failure, please feel free to give me my deserved punishment as you see fit. But please hear me out first. It's an emergency, sir. Gilbert Weilschmidt has escaped."

* * *

TBC


	6. A Race of Time

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I've been busy with the uni lately. :-/ I tried my best to keep updating though! Nudge me every once in a while to remind me, would you?

Hey you! Yeah you! I bet you haven't seen this yet have you? Check my deviantart page; (/OAO)/

**/ / nazonaro . deviantart . com**

* * *

**Chapter Seven: A Race of Time**

Gilbert's crimson eyes shone as he breathed out roughly.

He felt a stinging pain burned the skin beneath his limp arm. He felt weak. A wave of nausea pooled deep within his abdomen, liquid gathered at the back of his throat threatening to purge out. He swallowed with gusto, eager to prevent himself from throwing up all over Francis' car - the frenchman wouldn't like that, neither will Gilbert.

Francis was driving on his right, while Gilbert seated on the front seat silently - too silent for his usual loud demeanor - just sunk into the leather seat with clenched jaw and balled fists hidden under the lent coat he wore like a blanket, pretending to be asleep when he felt like shit. He'd thought he'd be fine after he pulled off that recent escapade, but he guessed wrong. It was stupid to attempt to forcefully disjoint an entire limb while he was still injured. What was he thinking?

Beads of sweat made its way stealthy down Gilbert's temples. Now he had to pay for the price of his recklessness. He gritted his teeth, attempting to drown the aching pain in his right shoulder joint discreetly. The last thing he'd need was Francis noticing the change in his behavior and probably starting to fuss over him. To distract himself, Gilbert looked intensely at his own lap.

Regretting what had been done was even more foolish. It was a necessary option. He was running out of time back then. Gilbert admitted he panicked a little. He was even desperate enough to commit to such a risk. A dumb, dangerous decision; had he mistook the location or had Francis never came to help him, he'd be in deeper shit that he already was. That loony Russian would beat the crap out of him if he'd failed. Or he might be killed. Tortured to death.

He shuddered at the thought.

But he did succeed. He did go to the right place and he met Francis. He might have to bear the consequences of his current state of health, but it was worth it in the end. A little pain like this was nothing when given the joy of freedom he'd achieved with his own hands.

But damn, his arm was_ fucking hurt_.

"Gil. Wake up, we're almost there."

Francis' gentle voice nudged him out of his trance. Almost forgetting he was supposed to be acting, Gilbert quickly enclosed his eyes and pretended he didn't hear Francis' call. He could feel the car shifted direction then Francis called him again.

"Gil?"

Gilbert didn't reply. He planned to go through with the pretense for a few minutes just to make it a little more realistic. He heard his name being called again and thought he should probably began to 'wake up' when he felt something brushed against his eyebrows, pushing some strand of hair that fell to his eye.

He stiffened.

But it was not so obvious as to give away his sleeping pretense.

The too gentle touch lingered just a few moments too long and then it vanished, followed by a heavy silence along with Gilbert's lost chance of breaking the acting. He heard a soft sigh seconds before something shook his shoulders, Francis' voice calling him again, louder and rougher this time. "Gil! Wake up! We've arrived!" A hard pinch on his cheek.

"… oooww!" Gilbert languidly exclaimed, feigning an abrupt awakening. He rubbed his aching cheek with his left hand, glaring at the tenacious pincher. "What'dja that for?"

Francis laughed. He didn't seem to notice Gilbert's bad acting. And he was supposed to be a professional con artist, too.

"You refused to wake up even after I called you so many times! Look, we're here already."

Francis said with a grin.

Gilbert looked over. The car had pulled over and parked in a public parking lot of a local market. He raised an eyebrow. What a choice of place to be, for a couple of wanted fugitives. He glanced at the taller man, who smiled in response to his muted question. An assuring smile who told the german to just trust him. Gilbert nodded in approval. After all, any hesitance he had of the man had been thrown out of the window a long time ago.

Francis shut off the engine while Gilbert clumsily shuffled his way to unbuckle himself. He creased his eyebrows in displease that the attempt was in vain because he could only use a hand, only managing to get more entangled in the harness. Francis chuckled at his failure, receiving a deathly glare from the albino.

"Dammit, Francis! If you had time to laugh, help me outta this fucking crap!" He barked with reddened face, irritated that he couldn't hit the man across the face in addition, being strapped to the seat.

The frenchman was still laughing softly.

"Alright, alright. Pipe down the language, Gilbert. I'll help you even without you asking me to."

Having already freed himself first, Francis leaned over to Gilbert's side. The german wrinkled his nose when a wild lick of Francis' blonde blob tickled his nose, it strangely smelled like roses. The sweet scent contrasted to Gilbert's usually cigarette-scented self. Only he hadn't smoked for weeks, so he probably smelled as sickly sweet as the flamboyant frenchman.

"…this reminds me of the old times."

"What?" Gilbert gazed down to meet Francis' own, that was looking up to him. His hands working on the seat belt.

"You always get into some kind of trouble when we were young, and I would always come and had to clean up after your mess." He smiled fondly, as if reminiscing.

His gaze went down until Gilbert could see the length of Francis' light-colored lashes. He had such long eyelashes despite being male. He had to admit Francis was a good man; handsome, suave in his mannerism and stylish. So very unlike his unruly, wild self, Gilbert mused. If he shaved his goatee he'd look much more effeminate and younger, though, even with that lame patch of facial hair grown on his chin, women still flocked all over him. The lucky bastard.

"What the hell. I never asked for your help, but you came anyway, meddling bastard." Gilbert snorted.

Francis laughed.

"…true, that. I wonder why I keep coming back even after all that?"

The german paused. The memories of their childhood flashed before his eyes. How happy they were back then, how care free and full of joyous spirits, having nothing to fear.

"Sure is nice. Back then at the orphanage." He closed his eyes, smiling fondly.

"We used to be such a pain in the butt for the sisters, always up to for some kind of mischief. Stealing the sisters' undies and stuff. Haha… You, me and Antonio… you two were always by my side even when we got punished a lot by the headmaster…" His vermillion-tinted eyes fluttered open to meet Francis' oceanic gaze right before him, their faces very closely apart.

Gilbert paused and they held their gazes to each other for a moment. Suddenly the nostalgic air turned into something Gilbert couldn't quite put his finger on, as the two completely stilled on the spot; Francis leaning in to his side with arms spread at either side of Gilbert's seat, effectively trapping him there. A pregnant silence emerged, neither broke away their gazes off each other. Something flickered in the german's mind when he saw something within his friend's eyes.

"… are you done yet? We gotta go quickly." Gilbert broke the silence, his expression and tone of voice void of any emotion. He raised his left hand to press at Francis' shoulder, pushing him in a very light manner.

Francis, as if snapped out of his trance, turned his gaze down. He was the first one to break away from their fervent staring bout. Gilbert stared at him. Francis' expression hid beneath those long bangs of his, giving nothing for the german to read. He could hear a soft intake of breath from the blonde before him.

"Ah. Pardon." He murmured, then without further ado he withdrew to give Gilbert some space.

With his body freed, the albino grabbed the thick coat on his lap and slipped into it, his left hand helped his right arm slid into the sleeve. His right arm was completely limp and hurt. A lot. Though Gilbert refused to let it show on his face. He wondered vaguely whether he'd worsened his injuries. He couldn't feel anything but numbing pain. He wasn't sure if he could heal as quickly as before, having overexerted his wounded limb over and over again.

Toris was a really good doctor, to be able to cure and rehabilitate his arm to be as good as yesterday. What with the crazy Russian mob twisted his arm and all. But he'd probably ruined all that effort by now. He felt a little guilty for that.

He looked over at Francis, who had the window on his side down and now currently staring outside with a new lit cigar hung between his lips. When the putrid smell of burnt nicotine reached his nostrils, Gilbert gulped. He hadn't smoked for so long. He missed it. Hmmm… Ashton. Francis had impeccable taste in the finer things.

"Give me one. The strongest you have." Gilbert nudged him.

Francis gave him a sideways glance, before handing a box of cigars to him. Two of them jutted out from the rest of the neat rows. The box was a bit too far for Gilbert to reach so instead he leaned to his right, gingerly bit down onto one of the two that stuck out. He heard Francis breath hitched ever so softly as the german pulled out with a cigar between his ripe maroon-tinted lips. He glanced at the blonde from beneath silver lashes, he caught him staring at Gilbert.

"… Gilbert…" Francis breathed. His oceanic eyes flared deep gleams, never leaving the other.

The said german hadn't withdrawn just yet, still leaning close to the blonde. When he spoke with something between his lips, it sounded slightly muffled. "Gimme fire." He gestured to the lit cigar Francis was having, then he lifted his chin slightly, anticipating.

He could clearly see how Francis' adam's apple moved up and down, before he bent his back and leaned in until the tips of their cigars met. Then Gilbert sucked at the other end. They stayed that way until smoke began rising in the german's tip, bright red spots blinked at the dull end.

Gilbert withdrew to his seat, inhaling the pungent smoke deeply.

"… you're cruel, Gilbert." Francis laughed humorlessly. He hid his face in the steering wheel, his arms folded around his head. Gilbert gave him a brief sideways glance, only to turn his gaze absently at the sight of the crowded market far beyond the dashboard.

He kept his gaze steady and calm.

"You know I'm not like that, Francis. I'm not interested... in having a relationship." He uttered quietly. He took out the cigar with his left hand, blowing out gray smoke. Then he sucked again, inhaling deeply. He turned to the impassive blonde, his expression unreadable. He looked so unlike the usual Gilbert; he was now stern and serious. Enigmatic, even. A rare sight.

"I love you, Francis. But not in the way you want me to. You're like family. I don't want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship."

He could see Francis twitched slightly. He slowly rose to meet with Gilbert's scarlet eyes. Then he shuddered. Those red-colored eyes could be so intense at times; dangerous, but sensual and sinfully alluring. Something about them did things to him, more than any lover he had ever courted. Even at times like this when Gilbert was rejecting him, he still felt enamored by his strong gaze. How unfair.

"… even if it's just casual?"

He tentatively asked.

"Why ask when you already know the answer, Francis?"

He answered a question with another question. Francis sighed. "I know." He uttered, a forlorn smile written across his lips.

Gilbert twisted his eyebrows.

"Don't smile, idiot." His crimson eyes downcast. "I'm sorry."

Francis shook his head. "Don't be. You know I will not force you into something you don't want to do, Gilbert. You're still my dearest childhood friend first and foremost." He caught a hold of Gilbert's head and pulled him into a friendly hug. Gilbert didn't answer as he let Francis draped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him closer.

The frenchman smiled gently. The crowded market made inaudible noise outside, but inside the car, it felt as if the world shrunk and only the two of them existed.

"I should be the one who's sorry. I made you feel uncomfortable, aren't I? Did I disgust you? Do you hate me now?"

"… don't be stupid." Gilbert barked, his fingers playing with the half-burnt cigar. "There's no way I'm gonna hate you. Though you _are _a bit disgusting."

Francis laughed. "Only a bit?"

"And… you can be _super_ annoying sometimes."

"Ha! Right back at you."

Gilbert snorted.

How strange. The tensions had vanished somewhere. The escape plan, his aching arm, Francis' feelings for him and his guilt for not being able to respond to them. Everything didn't matter at that time. Aah. They had to go soon, quickly. But Gilbert felt a bit tired. And this position was so comfortable, it made him feel sleepy. He smelled a familiar scent, with an old friend. He felt at ease. Like he was home.

Damn, he missed home.

He felt his eyes burned hot and wet. He closed them. Shit, he was being too fucking emotional.

Gilbert gritted his teeth.

"Let's go." He declared before he reached the door and unlocked it. Francis followed suit. The german stepped out and closed the door behind him with a click. He looked down at his limp arm and once again he felt a sense of futility. The pain aside, he was angry at himself for letting it be his weakness in the first place. The idea that he needed other people's help to survive didn't go well with him. He always preferred to go solo.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Francis came to his side, effectively pressed a hand on his shoulder.

Guess that meant Francis was his right hand now. Gilbert shook his head.

"Nothing. Let's just get out of this city, quick." He said, letting the frenchman wound his hand around his waist.

"Gilbert, is it okay for you to follow my lead?" Francis smiled, pressing their bodies together.

The albino glanced at the taller man's possessive arm around him. He understood this way people would notice his limp arm less. Although the idea of getting too intimate with his long-time good friend threw him off a bit. People would think they were gay or something. Gilbert clearly wasn't, though Francis was a faithful bi.

He shrugged. "Sure. Whatever. As long as we got this done."

"Alright. Don't mind if I do." Francis grinned as he moved closer.

* * *

Toris could see something twitched from the corner of his eyes.

He fearfully turned his gaze around only to meet something that made him wish he hadn't turned. Ivan Braginski was standing next to him. A dark shadow cast upon his stiffening visage, his amethyst eyes flashed a dangerous gleam as he watched the two fugitives from the large screen above their heads. The other employees in the office didn't seem to notice as they busied themselves with tasks given to them, lost in blurs of noise of their own making.

Ivan looked serene and composed. But Toris, having served the man for the last ten odd years, had grown to understand him more than he would've wanted. Ivan was a special case, his thought process and behavior vastly differed than other people in general.

Toris knew too well. From the way Ivan held a hand to cover his mouth discreetly as if thinking, to the small hints of body language. The way his eyes stared at the monitor without blinking and the faint trembles of his hands, he knew.

Ivan Braginski was angry.

He turned to the monitor and saw the unfortunate objects of his wrath; Gilbert Weilschmidt and his unknown accomplice were making their move while attached to each other not unlike a pair of lovers. They seemed to be very comfortable with each other. Toris wasn't sure whether they really were intimate or they were just familiar with each other. Either way, they were definitely close.

"… the target is spotted walking into the local fish market on the Western side. He's together with an unknown accomplice. A tall man in his early thirties. Has shoulder-length blonde hair, wearing white knitted sweater and jeans." Reminded of his job, Toris gave orders to the microphone of the headset he wore.

"Requesting nearby teams for a search and capture operation. I repeat, requesting nearby teams to search the local market; location on Block 29 Newton Street. Capture the target on sight."

Several answers laced in incorrigible buzz answered his call.

_"Copy that. Team Ruggard's going to the scene. Will report upon sight. Over."_

_"… team Jack here on location. Will initiate search and capture as soon as we spot the target."_

_"Roger. Rosemary's be on our way."_

Toris felt a bit relieved that several of their staff started making a move. He could feel the emergency in the situation. With his employer's mood dropping to a dangerous limit, Toris must do anything in his power to fix what was initially his error. The thought of being the receiving end of Ivan's wrath was unnerving, especially since he was the one to lose the target.

He was worried though; as far as he'd known, Gilbert was quick and smart enough to fool them. One wouldn't have expected he would go to such measures in order to get away. Even though he was injured. Gilbert was a skinny man, but squeezing through such a small opening of a restroom window would've worsen his injury again. Toris didn't know what manner of technique he used to escape, but he assumed it was something hazardous.

Then again, that would mean one thing.

When an idea emerged in his mind, Toris immediately caught a hold of his microphone closer to his mouth, directing orders.

"Toris Lorinaitis here. Attention to team Ruggard, team Jack and team Rosemary. Keep in mind that the target's right arm is temporarily immobilized. I repeat, the target's right arm is injured and rendered useless as we speak. Use this to your advantage and subdue him. However, DO NOT harm the target more than necessary. We want him captured alive and unharmed. Got it?"

_"Roger."_

_"Understood."_

_"Got it."_

Toris glanced at Eduard who's working on several spy monitors in his private work desk, two seats away from him. The bespectacled man nodded, turning his head at his monitor and wearing his headset. His monitors bleeped for a second and changed into different sceneries, changing into the security cameras all around the market.

"For now follow instructions from Eduard on channel 6. Report every five minutes. Fill me in the important parts only. Over and out."

Toris felt his throat burned slightly and his eyes tired. He wanted to sit back and relax, but he couldn't because Ivan was still standing next to him while observing the whole process. To be seen slacking off by your own employer would mean asking to be skinned alive. Toris shuddered at the thought, shaking his head. He couldn't rest now. Not until he could give Ivan some results.

So instead he focused his mind on observing the target's movement. He realized the two of them had vanished from the previous monitor. Taking a sharp intake, he switched to the other spying cameras and saw only glimpses of them. There were too many people squeezed into such a busy street. Even with squinted eyes, Toris could only manage a blob of silver amongst many others. Gilbert wasn't very tall, thus he seemed to merge into the crowd even more.

_Oh God_, this didn't seem to get easier.

He wasn't sure if the search teams would be able to spot them. Even if they did, it'd be quite a task to subdue them in a huge public place. There were also chances of mistaken identity … they could've gotten the wrong people instead. Toris bit his lower lip. They were smarter that he'd thought. This was like looking for a needle in a stack of straws. They needed to know where they were heading to, or they'd go scoot off free.

Panic rose to his throat, then the Lithuanian turned to Eduard. His tone of voice alarmed yet still calm. "Eduard. Watch the target closely, otherwise we'll lose him in the crowd. Be very careful." He warned, which was responded by a quick nod. Eduard returned to his spying work, seemingly more focused.

_Perhaps, I need to do more. _He thought as he set the microphone closer to his mouth, punching some buttons on the control panel in front of him.

"Toris here. Team Ruggard, Team Rosemary and Team Jack, you copy?" He heard responds from both teams.

"Place some of your men in every exit, also the parking lot, hidden paths and alleyways. Some should go to a higher place to scout. I'll call for more reinforcement soon. Copy?" Satisfied with their answers, Toris changed lines to Vash and told him to get more people in the scene.

_"Got it, Toris. Over."_

"Okay, it's good for now - "

Toris was about to turn off the channel when another one bumped to his.

_"… oris. …Toris." _A familiar voice called him. The voice was unclear and bleeped in buzz, but Toris could still recognize it.

He pressed the speaker against his ear. "Feliks?"

He heard faint laughter mashed with incorrigible whirr.

_"Hey…. How are you man? You sound desperate there. Was worried."_ The voice sounded sarcastic, yet in good humor.

Toris gave a nervous side glance at Ivan, before turning his gaze downward. "Feliks. It's not the time to have casual conversation. We have a situation right now and it's an emergency." He tried to reason softly, though urgently.

_"I know. I'm in the search team too."_

That explained the awful noise in the background.

Toris sighed. "If you know that, please don't abuse the line. I am very busy at the moment."

"_You're no fun._" Toris couldn't help but smile, imagining Feliks' childish pout by the sound of his voice.

"_But that's not why I call you, you know. Just wanna know the reward for a job well-done._"

"Ah. I'm sure your team will be rewarded handsomely, Feliks, given if you deliver good result…"

"_Stuupid. Not talkin' about that. I want a personal reward. From you."_

"Huh?" Toris quizzically uttered. "What do you - "

"_I want your ass._"

Toris' jaw dropped. He stared wide-eyed at the sceen, gaping.

"_… hello? Hello? Earth to Toris? Do you hear me man?_"

He could hear dull _tap tap _from the other side.

"Yes I heard you Feliks! J-just stop talking!" Toris exclaimed in whisper, beet red to his ears. Suddenly he felt like it was to breathe. His whole body felt impossibly hot and his brains muddled in mush.

He breathed deeply in and out to calm himself, to no avail. "Listen Feliks, this is hardly the time to joke around or discuss about… about _that_. I'm serious, Feliks. C-concentrate on your job as I will do mine. Otherwise, Mr. Ivan will have my rear-end instead." He spoke the last statement as softly as he could so his employer wouldn't hear.

_"Well. Okay. If you say so."_ Toris sighed in relief when Feliks finally gave up.

_"But remember! Don't give your ass to anyone else. It's my property. I don't do sharing… …huh? Who am I talking to? To my honey of cour - "_

Toris slammed a hand onto the off button, unable to bear with further embarrassment any longer. How he wished he could curl up into a ball and sink into a hole, then die there.

"Toris."

He felt like his heart jumped out of its ribcage as he snapped his gaze towards Ivan, gulping down noisily. Toris half-expected to be scolded for slacking off, but Ivan only stared at him in odd silence. "Y-yes sir?" He choked out, wondering if Ivan heard his conversation with Feliks. But then again, Ivan couldn't have. He didn't wear any ear piece.

"Come with me, Toris." Ivan commanded, turning on his heels.

"Oh. Ah. Yes, right away, sir! Eduard cover for me. Call me if anything happens." Toris promptly took off his headset. Eduard nodded knowingly, waving a hand at him. Toris replied with a stiff smile.

The Lithuanian quickly caught up with his employer, keeping a fair distance behind him. Ivan led him out of the room and into the corridor. Toris fished out an earpiece and a clip-on microphone from his pocket, proceeding to put them on. He checked the reception and tested a call to Eduard. Everything seemed to be fine. After he'd established a means of communication, he turned to the enigmatic russian, wondering where'd they go.

"Excuse me, sir. May I ask where we will be heading?" He politely asked.

Ivan stopped on his track, prompting his assistant to halt his steps as well. Then he looked over his shoulders, smiling a sweet, sweet sugary smile that whipped a chill down Toris' spines.

"We're going to pick up our dear Gilbert." Ivan spoke cheerfully, although his eyes weren't laughing. His eyes were gleaming dangerously. He kept the jovial pretense as he continued, dripping sweet venom from his mouth. Toris felt as if air was caught in his windpipe, rendering him breathless.

"He has been a bad, bad child… taking off with a stranger and worrying us like that. Bad children… need to be punished."

* * *

"… I think we lost the fifth one."

Gilbert uttered, peeking behind a square-shaped pillar of the gellato shop. He creased his brows, clearly displeased.

"It would appear so." Francis panted softly, his eyes scanning the throng of people walking back and forth in the streets. No men in black suits on sight. They had managed to lose them yet again.

"Fuck. Why are they even following us?" Gilbert spat to the ground distastefully. He was sweating furiously underneath the heat of the sun and the jacket he wore, plus he stank of fish and other people's sweat mixed in together. The smell was appalling even for someone like him. His arm still hurt like a vengeful bitch.

And then there were these weird people in suit tailing them everywhere they go, thankfully not bright enough to realize how conspicuous they looked in that get up. They immediately knew something was off with them. Soon they were practically everywhere, thus it made it hard for them to move. And they were quite hard to shake off. It was a good thing they were in such a crowded place, hiding in the midst of a crowd wasn't too hard. But Gilbert was seriously ticked off.

"Don't tell me it's that fucking russian lunatic's fault. Just what is it with him? I don't fucking get it. He could've just chosen another fucker to play with. Why can't he just leave me the fuck alone?" Gilbert wiped away the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. With this much people in one place and in summer, the heat was too much.

"I must say, this man you're talking about must have a crush on you, Gilbert. For him to do so much just to get you back." Francis joked, which received the german's wrath in return.

"Don't even joke about it! You don't know how creepy that russian shit is. He's a psycho, I tell you! A fucking nutcase! I want to get away from him as far away as possible." He glared.

Francis laughed. "Just joking. We need good humor in these times of danger to calm our nerves."

"Shove your jokes up your ass. I'm not in the mood for that." Gilbert blurted, checking his surroundings.

"Hey. Look like it's clear over here. Let's look for the exit."

"Fine plan. But how about the butcher shop? We need to treat your injury." The taller man pointed it out.

"Idiot. If those guys are really all over the place, we'll just get our asses surrounded quicker in one place. Don't worry about my arm. I'm tougher than I looked. Let's go." Gilbert tugged at Francis' arm and dragged the cooperating man across the street, lunging into a throng of mass.

"Oh shit." Just before they reached the other side of the alley, Gilbert spotted some of those men in suit again. He promptly turned on his heels, grabbed Francis and went the other way.

They moved slowly with the crowd, pretending to be a part of some tourist group. Francis even had the knack to chat with them to gain cooperation. The smart bastard. The market was quite the huge place, as it was the largest local market in the city. There were hundreds of small booths and stores and the paths were like maze. It was an easy place to hide in, but it was hard to pinpoint their location. There wasn't a map too. Neither Francis nor Gilbert was familiar to the place, thus they got lost a lot there.

Francis and Gilbert stuck with the tourists until they lost another group of stalkers, then they made a run for it. They repeat the process of hiding and running. It was becoming too much to handle. Francis was still fine, but Gilbert could feel the excess physical activity started taking a toll on his body. He became exhausted faster, and the pain in his arm intensified as time went by.

Even after they lost their trackers, they somehow managed to spot them again and again. They were lucky they'd slipped by so far. At first Gilbert thought of using the shortcut alleys and small paths, but the numerous coincidental brushes made him think that it was safer hiding amongst the crowds. They must've known the ways there very well, taking those shortcut would be willingly stepping into their traps, with nowhere to escape.

"Is that the exit?" Gilbert choked out, breathless. The way out of the market area was just across the street over there. Finally! They could get out now...

"Wait, Gil." Francis pulled him back. Gilbert looked up at him. The frenchman had a grim look painted on his face, his lips formed a stiff line. "Looks like we're surrounded."

Colors drained from Gilbert's face. He unconsciously gripped at the front of Francis' sweater. Though the men in suit hadn't noticed them yet. Francis gingerly pulled the unresponsive german aside to a blind spot inside a souvenir shop. He looked outside the shop while holding Gilbert against him, keeping a close watch.

"Fuck. What should we do? They probably have other exits covered." Gilbert breathed, pressing his face to Francis' shoulder. "Dammit. I didn't know that fucker has such influence in this city. Should've known better! Else we wouldn't be in this situation."

"I have expected he has power and money from what I researched, when I was looking for you, but not to this extent." Francis uttered, stroking Gilbert's hair comfortingly.

"… fuck. I even got you into this mess… I'm such a fucking idiot." The german balled his fist that was clutching Francis clothes. The taller man looked down at him, but Gilbert was looking away that he couldn't see his face.

"What if they do something to you, too? … I'll never forgive myself. Shit."

Francis smiled, encircling his arms around the smaller man. "Stupid." He said softly. "There's no way I'm not helping you when you asked me. Besides, it is not over yet. We're still here uncaptured, aren't we? Where's the usual optimism, Gilbert? This doesn't seem like you. Come on, look at me!"

Gilbert turned and looked at him. He looked upset.

"You're a big idiot, you know that?"

"Haha. I know." The frenchman smiled brightly.

The corners of Gilbert's lips twitched. "Well, I'm an idiot too." He muttered softly, pushing Francis chest. "… 'kay. Let's look for other ways."

"That's more like the Gilbert I know. Always up for mischief."

Gilbert grinned.

Both of them peeked at the outside and found the exit was heavily guarded as before. Gilbert and Francis were discussing ideas of how to get past by their guard when at that moment, the masses suddenly split to half because a delivery truck made a way inside. Gilbert blinked, then an idea hit him on the head. He turned to the frenchman, a look of childish enthusiasm written on his face.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" He smirked devilishly.

Francis winked. "_Mon ami_, we're a bad, bad egg."

"Heh. I'm better looking than you." He flicked a tongue towards the frenchman, whipping his gaze towards the delivery truck. "Now which one should we hitch-hike? …oh by the way. You have a cell with you?" He asked without looking.

"In a matter of fact, yes I do." Francis fished a smartphone out of his jeans pocket.

"Oh good. I need you to call Antonio, just in case."

* * *

to be continued…


End file.
